Set It Off!
by Naheka and Joe the Nazgul
Summary: What happens when you get all those cliche girl2ME fics, crush them, smash them, break them up into tiny bits, turn them over, and then bake them into one story that is practically the exact opposite of the original? You get this maimed piece.
1. In the Desert

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings. It officially and respectfully belongs to J. R. R. Tolkien. However, I do own the characters, creatures, and "language" that is of my creation.   
  
_

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_** Author's Note**_  
  
Concerning Names and Characters [You can find the same text in my bio]  
  
Hey. Naheka here. But wait! Which Naheka? What do you mean, "Which Naheka?".  
  
If you've read my stuff, you'll know that I have an OC running around being either a nineteen or sixteen year old Bounty Hunter that is a menace to society, or the lawfully wedded wife of Legolas. **I AM NOT HER.**  
  
It all started when I was a young, foolish, really really _stupid_ first-time fic author. Wrote a crossover between Harry Potter and Tenchi Muyo!. It was nice. After that, I wrote this... weird... parody thing called Protest of the Fic. It was about myself and the interaction of the charaters after my first fic. Ha ha, oh-how-cute-...-no-not-really-just-freaky. Right after that one came along, I became a The Lord of the Rings fanatic. "I saw the light...." I came in as another pathetic self-insert [coughs, hacks, dies] and interacted with characters. I made a sequel to that.   
  
After that sequel... I found that putting myself in my own fics weren't always the best thing to do [Yay! Heroic self-inserts are BAD!... unless they're true of course.] _So_, I made my first OC. Sad thing is, I don't want to rename her. I don't want to rename myself.  
  
And that's my story. I... am secretly forging a great and almighty powerful ...pencil that shall draw the fine line between myself and OC.  
  
  
Conerning... Other Stuff  
  
This story involves a collision between the world that I have created myself, and the world that Tolkien created himself. There. Is that clear?  
  
  
Bo-oring... (yawns and falls off her chair) Owee. Hope I haven't bored you away by now. On with the fic.  


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**SET IT OFF  
  
  
**  
  
"Give it back, Akui!"  
  
"Nah-ah! Nahe's too little to do anything!"  
  
"I am not! Gimmie!"  
  
The cackling smirk on Akuitaki Ryunarasu's face only widened with satisfaction that his little sister, Naheka Ryunarasu was simply too weak to push her toes up high enough to claim a shiny copper coin that he was wagging right above her head. Burning desert sands reddened Naheka's tiny three-year-old feet, but persistence kept her going. Though copper was worthless to her financially, her age-old grandfather told her it was an ancient piece meant to bring good luck. Of course, such a childish concept was a mere ruse, but being young and foolish, Naheka treasured it and guarded it with whatever skill she had.   
  
Akui snickered and dropped the coin into his smallest pocket on the front of his cotton shirt. She snarled, barring whatever fangs a three-year-old bore, and lunged at him. Sand got into her emerald green eyes as Akui swiftly leapt backward, spraying even more stinging grains into her face. Tears rolled down her dirty cheeks like the sweat that glazed her temples, which were covered by tangled knots of dark auburn hair. Screaming, she charged after her brother once again, who was only leading her back to their village, still wagging the copper pence behind him.  
  
And after that, he had succeeded in keeping the coin for himself, and Naheka ran crying to her elder brothers and sisters. They did not bother to retrieve her charm from the six-year-old that had stolen it, and simply told her that one day, she'd get it back from him. When her tears had stopped pouring, she was left alone with the other little children of her family to watch the soldiers, her elder brothers and sisters, grab their spears and bows to slay a wandering _badung _that had strayed into civilization. _ Badung_ meat was absolutely exquisite to the Ryunarasu, yet the _ badung_ were not easily captured, for it had four stout legs, six glimmering ivory horns, and one burning yellow eye that blinded whoever looked into it.   
  
Naheka remembered looking out the window with her head laying on the sill, gazing at those swift and graceful moves that her siblings pulled together, successfully and easily gorging its great eye and impaling its breast upon a long spear. She recalled not a single flinch or recoil when the badung's dark blue blood spilled across their shoulders, and backs, only rejoicing at the bountiful catch that they had attained. The Ryunarasu family at the village could be filled with half of it, and the other half could be sold, at an unreasonable price of course, to any unsuspecting by passers who hadn't the slightest idea that badung meat was poison to the bone. But a Ryunarasu could stand its venom, for much more deadlier toxins live in their saliva.  
  
Naheka watched them bask in their glory; Akui taunt her with her piece of copper; her family setting out to raid other villages; beloved members dying. And for many years, she stayed like that, watching the world accelerate, leaving her in the dust.   
  
But it wouldn't be like that for long.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"You better..."  
  
"Nope."  
  
"I'm warning you."  
  
"You're still just a kid. Go away."  
  
"I hope you understand---"  
  
"Be quiet!"  
  
In a flash of microseconds, Naheka had dropped to her ankles and swung her now long and sturdy leg under Akuitaki's step. He stumbled and tripped, falling face forward into the same, scorching hot sand of the same scorching hot desert. Naheka pounced on his back as he was down and snatched a pretty little thing she found lying in the sand. Somehow, it seemed to be calling her name. When she had found the trinket, she could immediately tell it could bring forth great evil and power. But Ryunarasu's were bounty hunters to the core, on their own side of the apocalypse, and she couldn't care less. Of course, Akui seemed to pop out of nowhere, only to knock her to the ground and dash off in another victorious plunder. After thirteen straight years of this crap, Naheka was used to it.  
  
"_You cannot hide..._" whispered the possessed inanimate object.  
  
"Hide from what?" Naheka thought inwardly, her eyes narrowing through a loop in the object.   
  
It was a ring. A gold ring. A plain, boring, pathetically bland gold ring.  
  
"Shame," she sighed out loud, tossing it up carelessly into the air, "Rings are worthless. It's mine."  
  
"You don't know where it came from," muttered Akui underneath her weight, "And get off me!"  
  
"Hey, I don't know where you came from either."  
  
"That wasn't funny."  
  
"Then why am I laughing? Ha! Ha! Ha!"  
  
By then, Akui had bucked her off him and she rolled into the sand. Little sister was the one cackling this time as she bounded over his head, and sprinted off like the north winds, west of the village. Akui, in a furious taste for revenge, dove at her heels. But she was too nimble for him, and she mounted the pale blue _gingae _that she had tethered to a rock that poked out of the sand. _Gingae_ were the lightest of heel in the desert with their springy long legs, and balanced torso and head. A crown of silver thorn like barbs lined the forehead plate of this particular_ gingae_ , perfect for cleaving the binds of the rope around its neck and fleeing from its parked spot with its rider upon its back.  
  
"_Saude lachai alkaugh ke badrae,_" she sang loudly to tease her brother as her _gingae_ gently cantered over the knolls of sand. Akui was sprinting just behind her.   
_Lachai alkaugh ke badrae,  
Lachai alkaugh ke badrae,  
Saude lachai alkaugh ke badrae,  
Meu lo jhe hada z_*-- agh!"  
  
The _gingae _had suddenly gritted to a halt, flinging her off its back and once again, into the earth. But she didn't hit sand this time. Instead, a cold plate of metal met her back, and a rather filthy pair of hairy feet came up into her face. Instinctively unsheathing a dagger from a tin scabbard that she had belted onto her thigh, she pointed down at a crippled pile of what seemed to be nine, very strange, very odd, very... _ stupid_ looking men. Some of them were wearing a sheet of _ teqilla_ , which was armor in Ryunarasu reference, and others numerous layers of coats and jackets, particularly four hairy-footed males at the top of the mass. One wore a giant dinner plate. And, another wore a pair of leather brown boots that looked exactly like the ones she had laying in the corner of her own room. Could these aliens be thieves?   
  
"Do these... things here look edible to you?" Naheka inquired as Akui slowed down to observe the scene. Neither of them recalled those men lying in a huddle five seconds ago. They would've have seen them, from wherever they came.  
  
"If we roast them," Akui suggested, "and perhaps add some _callugh_ petals, they'll probably do for a salad dressing."  
  
"...Good idea!" she exclaimed in reply, "Get the Bearers and the Burners! We're having a bonfire tonight!"  
  
At the sound of these words, someone from the very bottom of the pile began screaming.   
  
"_Stop!_" it cried, "_We are alive! Be gone! Do not eat us!_"  
  
"Ai," mumbled another voice, except it was clearer than the other, "...Where are we, Mithrandir? I do not recognize these lands."  
  
"Hush, Master Elf, "came a grumble, "Now, why are you crying out loud like an infant to its mother, Master Dwarf?"  
  
"We are about to be burned and sacrificed!" the first voice shrieked again.  
  
"Burned and sacrificed! Ai, Elbereth!"  
  
Naheka and Akuitaki stood there next to the pile, eyebrows raised as they listened to the rest of the frantic conversation. It was a very long banter of shouting and hollering before it became common sense, as the hunters, to claim their consciousness by whacking each man with the hilt of their daggers. It was easy enough to strike them, as their limbs were much too tangled to even release them themselves.   
  
A band of villagers eventually came riding on _gingae_ , carrying weapons and shields. When they had been informed of the situation, they threw up their knives and tossed their spears.  
  
Dinner would be served on a silver platter tonight.  
  
  


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Kinda' scary, isn't it? I thought it was. But I know that this is quite odd. I know you are lost and confused, but more explaining will come later. Really couldn't care that much if you reviewed. I just really want to re-write my first fics.  
  
  
* Translation:  
_Saude lachai alkaugh ke badrae_,  
Run hard, but you will never catch me,  
_Lachai alkaugh ke badrae,  
_But you will never catch me,_  
Lachai alkaugh ke badrae,  
_But you will never catch me,_  
Saude lachai alkaugh ke badrae,  
_Run hard, but you will never catch me,_  
Meu lo jhe hada---  
_You'll fall to the wrath---_  
_  
Made this up myself. You can tell by the gibberish qualities! _  
  
_


	2. Sparks

**Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings respectfully and rightfully belongs to JRR Tolkien. I own my "language" and Naurglahad.  
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**Author's Note:**  
  
Good... no people that are suggesting that they get in the way of my progress. I don't care if I get some minor facts screwed up. I work too hard (I don't have as much writing time anymore) to write this to deserve a flame... not that anyone ever gives me flames. Creative critique only, please.   
  
And yes, Lirawen (_hi!_ ^_^), this is a prequel to I Stand Alone. This is the first "volume". After this... I don't know if a newly written story should come up. I'll think about that later....  
  


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** SET IT OFF!**  
  
  
  
  
"Master... I am frightened," whimpered Sam to Frodo, "I do not recall such a nightmare to be an event in our quest!"  
  
"Neither do I, Sam," replied Frodo. He seemed to be trying to inwardly plot a way out of this mess.  
  
When the Fellowship had woken into consciousness, they found themselves in a dirty rock chamber, bound all together by chains and cords; cords of thick, ,wiry threads. It was wrapped around each member in the absolute most complicated pattern imaginable. Little did they know that it was a knot titled _The Tie of Force and Blood_, for it was a traditional loop that would force the victim to bleed after a few hours. Boromir, who was the first to touch the rope spotted the links of his mail shirt begin to weaken. Some links were halfway through snapping, as others had chiseled through already, and was starting to cut the threads of his shirt.  
  
"It is like _mithril_!" cried Gimli who had just attempted to wriggle out of his binds. The foul rope had scratched and dented his heavy plated dwarvish armor, causing him to gasp in utter horror, making even Legolas' emotionless face flinch with a dab of fear.  
  
"The Ring!" Frodo gasped, suddenly noticing that the terrible band of gold was missing from his neck.   
  
"Could it get any worse than this?" groaned Merry, his head drooping in despair.  
  
Well, it could. At that moment, a young maiden came down a nearby corridor and kicked their cell door open in the most un-maiden-like way. She was surprisingly light, considering the fact that she lived in the middle of a barren desert, but she definitely wasn't fair pale. Acid eyes of green narrowed in a sinister way as she grinned a mouthful of deadly white teeth. Her hound teeth* shone out the most. Her limbs were slender, yet muscular, worked from lifting the blades she wielded, and from carrying the beings she slew. A brown leather tunic she wore alongside a belt with a few... painful looking sharp objects. She was singing some kind of marching song in a strange language.   
  
"It is the tongue of Glaurung and Ancalagon!" exclaimed Legolas quietly in Elvish to Argorn who was bound behind him, "She is a demon!"  
  
The lady, who looked not a day older than sixteen, snorted a laugh at the elf and his Quendi speech. Keeping her eyes on him, she said:  
  
"_Kaungh gad zurghasad Glaurung li Ancalagon?_"  
  
As she talked, her voice seemed unearthly low for a female and as rough as an orcish chant. Legolas was completely horrified, being addressed in the language of the beasts that had slaughtered not only elves, but dwarves and humans as well in the ancient time of Middle-earth. But, how could she know anything about Middle-earth?   
  
The lady sighed and shook her head. Again she spoke, but this time in the Common Tongue.  
  
"Never mind," her voice was young and immature, as are all teenagers, "Five hours to live and you pathetic idiots are so ignorant as to what shall become of your useless and worthless lives, don't you?"   
  
Legolas felt the spark of challenge rise in his blood. Never had he been insulted by a mortal woman four times in the same sentence. To make his mark, he shot an unusually bitter glare. The lady seemed to have her own medicine and spat a disgusting blob of saliva at his feet. He grimaced.  
  
"Well," she continued, "I've met you, you pointy eared fool. Who are the rest of you?"  
  
None of the members of the Fellowship spoke, not even Pippin, who was the one who usually tended to blurt out information. He was cowering behind Boromir.  
  
The lady sighed again.  
  
"Silence... woo-hoo.... Do you speak Mortal Tongue?"  
  
No responses.  
  
"Well, I do!" she walked over to a nearby long wooden crate and dusted the soot off of it before she sat down on top of it, "My name is Nauraghlo-zaheliosikemadtu. Ridiculous name, isn't it? It was the cracked up Wise man's idea," she chuckled. Some of the Fellowships shoulders seem to relax a bit. Catching this minor , contract she continued speaking, "I am a desert rouge and a menace to society. Love'd to do business with you wonderful people some day.... Are you sure none of you speak Mortal   
  
Aragorn shuddered and cleared his throat.  
  
"We all speak the Common Tongue, if that is what you are referring to, miss, " he said finally. He seemed confident in what he was saying. Probably attempting to bring up the Fellowship's hopes a little more. Perhaps they could use her to get them out of their trap.  
  
"Common Tongue..." she pondered aloud, "And just call me Naurglahad. It is a lot easier." she pulled the rest of herself up onto the box and lay there with her head resting on her crossed arms. She seemed to be amused with them. "Now... who the hell are you freaks and where did you come from?"  
  
Aragorn's face faltered as he cleared his throat once more.  
  
"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. These are my companions, my fellowship," he paused and looked at the group, who just stared back at him as if expecting him to say something Heir-of-Isildur-ish. "I shall let them introduce themselves... if you were to perhaps untie us."  
  
"What?" Naurglahad laughed, shaking her head, "You are supposed to be my steak tonight! Why in the world would I release you?"  
  
"Because they're innocent!" cried a voice from behind her.  
  
Naurglahad's left eye twitched aggregately as she whipped around to see a hyper young lady with a finger struck up into the air as to make a point. And so was her intentions. It was Chaos-chan, a rather unusual name Naurglahad thought so, as... it seemed so cute and hippy-happy-hyper. Chaos-chan was not a Ryunarasu. No one seemed to know where she came from, not even the cracked up Wise man. She was dressed, again in what Naurglahad thought unusual, a dark grey tunic with another sparkly trinket dangling around her neck. Odd thing was that it seemed to tie in with the theme of what the Fellowship was wearing.  
  
"...I don't care if they're innocent," retorted Naurglahad, swinging her legs up and off the crate, "You stay out of this!"  
  
"Hey! I was invited to this dinner too!" Chaos-chan replied simply, "And I am not a cannibal!"  
  
"...You want to drag the little ones around like dogs again, don't you?"  
  
"The hobbits? Heavens, no!"  
  
"Hobbits?"  
  
"Or Halflings, if that is what you prefer!" piped up Pippin, suddenly coming out of his frightened trance.  
  
"Aha!"  
  
Suddenly, she whipped out a _kunai_**, a razor sharp throwing knife, and threw it like a ninja-star, directly at the hobbit's head. Pippin ducked just in time to avoid it. The tip of the _kunai_ landed like a dart into a single gigantic knot in the center of their bindings. Smoothly, every cord wrapped around them slid loosely to their waists. She had released them.  
  
"Speak!" Naurglahad commanded, aiming another kunai at Pippin's face, "What's your name, my little Halfling friend?"  
  
"P-p-p," Pippin stuttered, "Peregrin Took!"  
  
"And yours?" she swung her knife in an arch, pointing to all of them.  
  
"Frodo Baggins."  
  
"Samwise Gamgee."  
  
"Meriadoc Brandybuck, but call me Merry."  
  
"And I, Sam!"  
  
"Nice to hear you, Frito, Sammy, Merril, and Parakeet!"  
  
Sam opened his mouth to correct her, but Gandalf slapped his hand over the hobbit's mouth.  
  
"I am Gandalf the Grey," he said pleasantly to cover up the odd movement. Yet, it seemed to be even more odd that he was in a pleasant tone.   
  
"And Boromir, of Minas Tirith."  
  
"She probably hasn't heard of the White City.... I am Gimli," he returned her raised eyebrow, "A dwarf."  
  
Legolas remained silent. He did not trust this desert scum. She was completely rude to his companions, especially himself, and the Fellowship of the Ring was certainly not a title he felt should be mocked. He had a problem with not only her arrogant speech, but her un-likely leather tunic was simply atrocious. It seemed so wild and foreign to him. And her obvious taste for hurting others was not something to coop with. Those knives gleamed deadly sharp. A sixteen yeared menace to society she certainly was, and he refused to owe any allegiance to her. It didn't seem right.   
  
"Please speak, Master Elf," pleaded Gimli from below him, "She could kill us."  
  
"Legolas Greenleaf," he sighed reluctantly. Naurglahad shot a small smile at him, but it was more of an evil grin than a friendly gesture.  
  
And many many years, both Naurglahad and Legolas clearly remembered their first meeting, for sparks shot between them... sparks of pure hatred and loathe for one another. Legolas had problems with her character, and Naurglahad just did not like him....  
  
_ Period._  
  
"Dude! You look like a girl with all that stupid long blonde hair!"  
  
  


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Attention all Anti-Legolas fans! Visit http://naheka.tripod.com/legolasviolentdeath for great bashing and trashing of the Mary-Sue Legoface!  
  
*Hound teeth: aren't those the sharper front teeth in the mouth of a human being?  
** Kunai- That is not part of my gibberish. I got it from Onimusha Warlords .  
  
  
**Translation:**  
_Kaungh gad zurghasad, Glaurung li Ancalagon?_  
You know of my relatives, Glaurung and Ancalagon?  
  
  
  



	3. A Wild Chase

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings, or any other product of JRR Tolkien's work. I own my little gibberish language and Nauraghlo-zaheliosikemadtu._  
  


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** Set It Off!**  
  
  
"Didn't think any of you would taste that good anyway," Naurglahad sighed. She flicked a ringlet of her brushed hair out of her longer face and kicked the door open again. She stepped aside from the exit and gestured her arms toward it. No one moved. "Well? You want to escape don't you?"   
  
"Of course we do!" exclaimed Gimli, rising on his toes.  
  
"Then out you go!" she waved her arms at the door again.  
  
A glint of suspicion crossed Legolas' eyes.   
  
"It cannot be as simple as to simply walk out the door," he accused, putting his hands on his hips.  
  
"Of course it's not as simple!" Naurglahad sighed in response. She flicked out a second kunai, "But it'll be a lot easier if you run now, because if you don't, I'll kill you!"  
  
She wasn't lying. Another kunai came flying and Legolas ducked just in time to miss its blade drive into the bridge of his nose. The hobbits were the first to flee from the cell, closely followed by Gimli, Boromir, and Gandalf. Aragorn turned back to call to Legolas who had just rolled under another dagger toss. In a flash, the elf and ranger had brushed past Chaos-chan and out into the dungeon corridor. Naurglahad grinned and casually followed after them, thrusting her friend into the open cell and snapping the lock on. Chaos-chan sighed woefully. This trap was almost a normal routine to her, so she plopped herself on top of the crate and began singing some random song to make herself happy.  
  
As Naurglahad watched the Fellowship scramble up through the open doors and corridors, she paused by a corner and retrieved a heavy silver painted disc from a side palette. With it, she took up the leather covered stick and began lightly tapping the rim of the silver disc counterclockwise. It was a gong designed to make a silent ring that rebounded off the walls. Quickly placing the gong back onto the palette, she covered her ears as tight as she could.   
  
The rebounding sound of the gong came back, sending an unearthly shriek throughout the whole village. This was the signal that meant "Escaping captives."  
  
  
** ~*~**  
  
  
"It looks something like a horse! We've got to escape! Ride it anyway!" cried Samwise, looking up at a four legged creature with a reptilian sort of a head. After escaping the dungeons, passing a market, and what look dreadfully like the gallows, the Fellowship seemed to have come upon a sort of ranch, full of these alien monsters. Scarlet scales round two beetle black eyes and raven dark feathers served as a sort of mane on its crest. The red scales covered the rest of its body, which was the only part of it that really looked like a horse... except with red scales.  
  
Gandalf attempted to mount it, but a set of copper colored talons shot out of its freakish brown hooves. Getting panicked and a bit frustrated, he whacked the abnormal creature round its thighs. It emitted a strange sort of squawk and suddenly bit Gandalf's sleeve and yanked him violently up onto its back. Then, it sped off out of its gathering stable. Like cattle, eight other monsters did the same to the remaining of the Fellowship and took off after Gandalf.  
  
Sam was right. It was something like a horse. The beasts seemed to know their way around and kept in a V formation, sprinting southward of the village.  
  
"We've made it!" cried Merry, struggling to keep a hold of his steed.  
  
He spoke too soon.   
  
War cries came from behind them. As they turned, they saw blue sparks rise over the sands behind them. Legolas, with his elvish eyes, cried out as he discovered that they were not merely fireworks, but arrows of blue flame. And beyond the arrows, a triangle of three riders on long legged bird-like beasts came beating over the knolls. Their steeds kept the same swift pace, yet it was not nimble enough for the even speedier warriors behind them.  
  
"It is that girl!" the elf shouted. He and the Fellowship's steeds jumped into the air as the flaming arrows crashed into the sand, igniting the section into a wall of blue flames temporarily, "She has gone back on her word! She is intending to slay us!"  
  
"Then we cannot let her catch us!" replied Boromir. Nudging his steed's thighs, he caused it to run even faster than before. The Fellowship, getting the idea, also urged their beasts forward.  
  
The riders kept at the same pace.  
  
"Fight!" suggested Pippin. He almost toppled off his beast. Gandalf came alongside him just in time to push him right side up.  
  
Legolas did not hesitate in stringing an arrow into his bow, and turning his back to fire at a rider. It beamed the left rider's steed, and both the rider and the beast fell to the earth, fading away from their sight as they kept riding.  
  
Next, Legolas spotted Naurglahad and her companion split into two separate positions: one on the far left, and Naurglahad on the right. Aragorn, who was also equipped with the archery gear, shot a second arrow at the left rider. The left rider was quicker, and ducked under the arrow.   
  
Suddenly, both riders behind them stopped. Naurglahad had halted and ridden over to her companion. She spoke to him probably strategy commands. He listened, and taking her word, he fled back to the village. Only Naurglahad was left behind them, and now that she had gotten her bird sprinting again, she was gaining on them hastily.  
  
Legolas, again with his elvish eyes, saw her reach behind and take up not a knife, nor bow, but a sort of javelin. Judging by the length of the stone hilt and the titanic blade on the front end, it looked quite heavy, and probably painful to receive in any part of your body. He also noticed that she had her eyes locked on him, as if she were preparing to---  
  
"Legolas! Duck!"  
  
Bang!  
  
  
  
** ~*~**  
  
  
  
"Master..." stuttered an orc as it gaped into a vile pit of brown sludge, "I.... Me thinks it's alive!"  
  
"We shall see," replied Saruman the White. He stood next to the servant and waited patiently, leaning on his staff as he peered into the ooze.   
  
The sludge of the breeding pit fussed and writhed in place, as if a wild animal were trying to break out of a cage. In fact, it really did look like something thrashing to escape. It clawed and roared and jumped about as far as it could go. This creature was definitely alive and kicking.  
  
Such prediction was true, for in a single blink of the White Istari's eye, three orcs had been slewn and lay dead on the floor with their throats cut. A fourth was now choking as a muddy creature clenched a fist around the orc's throat. Inclined to the old man's face was a gleaming dagger; at least a good eight inches long and one and a half inches wide. Filthy strands of hair covered a blurry face atop a fair neck and feminine form, a most unusual build for the great army that he had promised Sauron.  
  
"This is no Uruk-hai," muttered Saruman.  
  
With a single sweep of his staff, the threatening creature was cast aside back into the breeding pits. Of course, the orc was also crushed, and it died from a break into his medulla. The creature lay motionless in the pit once more. Saruman snorted and began to hobble off back to his _ palantiri _... until another painful shriek of orcs came from behind him.  
  
"You fools!" he cried, seeing that five orcs had been knocked unconscious or dead by a huge javelin that the now resurrected creature grasped in its hands.  
  
With a sharp flick, it had wiped the muddy filth away from its eyes. Two emeralds burned like fire of fury under it. They did not change expression as the javelin was turned to the wizard, positioned to impale him upon the pinnacle of the tip.  
  
Again with his staff, Saruman managed to control the beast from its wrath. To his surprise, it spoke a language to him:  
  
"*Lo luude! Lo zurgachad jhe za hada!"  
  
This was a long forgotten language. He heard the same words in some lost portal of time in his memory, but where it came from exactly, he could not remember. However, he did recall it as a very foreign form of the Dragon Speech. And he had not heard dragons communicate for ever such a long time ago. Only as a wave of a phrase during the reign of Morgoth, he who created the Great Worms of Arda.  
  
Saruman glared back into the eyes of emerald and grinned.  
  
"So.... Perhaps we shall have some use for you."  
  
  
  


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_  
_***Translation:**_  
Lo luude! Lo zurgachad jhe za hada!_  
You fool! I'll kill you wrathfully for that!  
  
  



	4. The Black Riders

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings. JRR Tolkien owns it. I own my character._  
  


* * *

  
  
** Author's Note:**  
  
MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!  
...  
Thank you.  
  
_-Naurglahad_  
  


* * *

  
** SET IT OFF!**  
  
  
"Don't you dare use me!" Naurglahad retorted, bits of mud flying at the white old man's face.  
  
The wizard grinned devilishly once again as he eyed something over her shoulder. As soon as Naurglahad turned, an iron club, held by a gruesome goblin like creature came lightly down on her head, knocking her out.   
  
  
** ~*~**  
  
  
Of all of her senses, Naurglahad's sense of smell was the best. Then came taste, hearing, touch and eyesight. At the moment, she smelt sulfur and volcanoes, tasted ashes on the tip of her tongue, heard cracks of flames as if she was laying on top of it, touched the rusting cuffs about her wrist, and saw the blackness of the inside of her eyelids.  
  
"Open your eyes, child," came a rasping voice. It sounded half dead, yet writhing with living worms and whispers.   
  
Naurglahad clenched her eyes before snapping them open. The inside of her lids were no difference to the darkness around her... or maybe it was just the darkness of the hooded face in front of her.  
  
With a hard wrench of steel fingers, she was yanked from her shackles and onto her weak feet. They were sore for some reason, and they felt like sticks of melting butter. Stumbling on what felt like a rotting skeleton, she followed the hooded creature out of a dark chamber and into the gloomy light of a burning torch. Another hooded creature seemed to be glaring into the flames of the torch, as if reflecting on a well hated memory*.   
  
Through several musty corridors and four decaying gates, another hooded creature leant against the wall with his arms crossed. At the approach of Naurglahad and its fellow, it turned its head up and walked toward them. Naurglahad finally noticed the squeak in their pointed metal shoes. Judging by the leggings, these creatures must have been riders. Black riders. That seemed an appropriate name for them. She would call them that for now.  
  
She was about to ask who they were until the worn stone floor met her cheek in a rough collision. The black rider had cast her aside onto the floor as if she were some kind of rag. The second rider bent down next to her.  
  
"I would not be too harsh with her, Fuinur," it spoke. This rider had the same dead tone, but it was dead as if his life had left him, not his soul, "Sauron has business with her."  
  
"Her?" the rider replied, "_It_ is probably only going to be used as a testing device for some brilliant plan of our Lord's."   
  
Naurglahad couldn't resist it. Both from a taste of revenge, and just because it was an opportunity too perfect to miss, she flipped onto her side and swung her leg under the rider's step... just like she had done to her brother back in the desert... wherever that was now. The rider tripped and fell flat face onto the floor.  
  
"Test device, am I?" she countered in satisfaction, rising to her feet smoothly. She turned to the second rider, "To Sauron! Whoever the hell he is!"  
  
If the rider had a face, it probably would have raised an eyebrow. But nonetheless, it began walking up a winding stone staircase, probably guiding her to Sauron.  
  
"What are you?" she asked as soon as the bottom of the stairs were out of sight.  
  
"... A Black Rider, " it muttered in reply.  
  
"Thought so..." she tried to think of some sort of conversation topic, "...Can I call you---"  
  
"I heed a name, and it is---"  
  
"Joe! Your name is going to be Joe! Hi, Joe!"   
  
The Rider stopped in its tracks and turned it's hooded face to her before it sniffed the air. It sensed something she didn't. Something... powerful. Perhaps, Naurglahad thought with her good sense of smell, she could try searching for it.   
  
Joe stopped observing the scents as soon as he realized that the mortal beside him was either trying to imitate him, or had the same senses he had.  
  
"I smell nothing," she said finally, "Other than fire and something rotting. What did you smell?"  
  
"...Twas nothing important."   
  
"Oh.... Who's Sauron?"  
  
"You shall find out soon enough."  
  
"...You're a lot nicer than all of your other creepy friends I saw."  
  
"Nay. You have mistaken your judgment. I am merely patient. Not nicer."  
  
"Why do talk so funny?"  
  
Joe turned his head so sharply at her that the torn black cuff of his sleeves fluttered with his spin. Naurglahad flinched slightly, but blinked pleasantly up at the darkness of his hood.  
  
"Enough questions, child!" he boomed, picking up the same terrible voice that the other rider had used. He expected to smell her horror, meaning that she would cower with fear as all the other mortals he encountered had done. Instead, he sensed amusement.   
  
"You talk like my grandfather when he drinks too much milk," she replied, "Did you know that?"  
  
"Silly children," Joe grunted in his own tongue to himself, "One can never extract a single point from them***."  
  
  
  
Naurglahad kept attempting to strike up a friendly conversation with the Rider through the whole walk. After they had ascended the stone staircase and passed through another rotting wooden door, they paced another stone corridor with iron maces mounted upon the walls, and more longer halls that had a dull torch burning in its metal holders along every pillar that held up the ceiling. None of the rooms had carpets or welcoming decorations of any sort. Not even a simple house plant in the corner of doorways.  
  
As they passed a rounding outdoor walkway, Naurglahad peered over the balcony. What she saw made her jaw drop with excitement. Below her was at least a thousand feet of straight black cement, carved into sharp juts and creases. The buildings poured down the mountain it stood upon and extended into more stone bridge ways, which were filled with marching soldiers bearing scarlet and black banners. Below the bridges, there were three round terraces with massive fort like walls lining the edge of each terrace. One by one with a terrifying screech, three great iron doors on the walls opened, letting in more soldiers with the same flags. And to add finally to this awesome fort, a sea of lava boiled morbidly in its bay. One couldn't forget the blackness of the craggy terrain that stood around the lava either.  
  
"Who... _built_ this masterpiece?" she cried suddenly as soon as they had entered another corridor.  
  
"Thou shalt meet him," said Joe, taking a key from his belt and turning it into the ivory lock that bound two great iron doors, "Right now."  
  
With a howl of wind and a lick of flames, Naurglahad shut her eyes once more as she crossed her forearms in front of her face.   
  
When she reopened them, she saw only shadow. The floors she stood upon seemed to pour behind her like a river's current. And when she looked above her, there was _a great red eye, wreathed in flames, and encircled in Darkness_.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
That last phrase up there is italicized because those are the descriptions used to describe Mr. Eye.  
  
*****If you haven't figured it out, that's the Wraith that got burnt in the face by _The Amazing Torch Throwing Guy_! (C-chan came up with that title. She's lazy, but she's a genious)  
******Nazgul can't see, right? So he smells fear....thing.  
*******How do you say 'them' in _Ye Olde English_?  
  
  



	5. A Dark Allegiance

**Disclaimer:** I do not _The Lord of the Rings_. It belongs to JRR Tolkien.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
** Set It Off!**  
  
  
Naurglahad whipped around to call for her corpse-like companion, but the thud of a door and the click of a lock told her that he had left the room and barred her in. She cursed and turned to the great Eye that burned like a sun above her. The Eye had no lid and it was flaming red like fresh blood. The outer flames along the rim of the Eye were like clawing hands, simply itching to choke the nearest thing they could lay their gnarled fingers upon.  
  
"I see..." came a croaking voice from the Darkness that encircled it, "I see through your disguise, Mortal Dragon!"  
  
Naurglahad's eyes narrowed suspiciously. This was no illusion of an Eye.   
  
"How have you come hither?" it pronounced again, "Your blood is uncommon in this place."  
  
"I haven't the slightest idea how I got here," Naurglahad managed to grumble, "What do you want?"  
  
"Perhaps your question is not what I desire," said the Eye wisely, "But what do you desire?"  
  
"To get the hell out of here."  
  
"I could grant thee so."  
  
The Eye caught Naurglahad's right eyebrow raise in interest. His plan was working.  
  
"How..." she said, taking a few paces closer to the eye with a hand on her hip, "How can _you_ get me back?"  
  
"I am a great Sorcerer," replied the Eye, "I am wise and powerful, and I see through your mask. You have only half the blood of a mortal; a mortal of Arda. Numenor lives in you. Yet your Numenorian blood is impure with the blood of Glaurung and Ancalagon. How such a combination has occured, I am riddled, but I sense a spirit of the Corsairs within you. You are a friend of mine through blood."   
  
Naurglahad was about to tell the Eye that she was point-blank unconvinced until she felt something surge through her body. It was a sort of energy; a powerful sort of energy. She could sense it spread from her neck, to her spine, from the tips of her fingers, and to her toes. She felt an exhilarating energy pump in her veins. It was power.   
  
"Just as a consolation gift," said the Eye, "I give thee the Secret of Shadow. Thy foes shalt not sense thy intentions nor energy. I can grant thee any wish."  
  
Naurglahad was still breathing deeply from the injection. She gazed at her fingers and limbs as if she had never seen them before. Clenching her fists and angling her elbows, a look of utter amazement passed over her face. She grinned at the feeling of this new energy.   
  
"Then I have a request, " Naurglahad began, but she paused. As a bounty hunter, she made deals like these herself. "But what is that catch?"  
  
"The _catch_?" the Eye questioned, the redness around its pupil pulsing.  
  
"What must I give you in return?"  
  
"Ah. Simply do the tasks that I give you, and I have only _one_ task."  
  
"And what task would that be?"  
  
"You shall be informed if you join my Allegiance."  
  
Naurglahad took a deep breath. What harm could doing a little errand bring? The Eye would probably ask for a precious gem lying in the corner of a cave infested by creatures that he couldn't tackle alone. She had been trained in the art of stealth back at home, had she not? Making deals and hunting people down was an easy business for her, and it would be even easier with the Secret of Shadow.  
  
"Fine then, " she said finally, "I accept your offer."  
  
And at that moment, she swore her allegiance to Sauron, the Great Lidless Eye. He told her of a precious piece of jewellery that a foolish Halfling bore, and was on his way to the land they were in, Mordor, to cast in into the fires to destroy it. If she could retrieve this jewellery and give it to him, then he would grant her a return home, or a seat of power if she decided to stay in the world she was in, which was called Middle-earth.  
  
"Give her common clothes," Sauron commanded to Joe, who was found guarding the chamber doors once they were opened, "She must become the enemy."  
  
  
** ~*~**  
  
  
"Do I get tattered robes like you?" Naurglahad blurted out as soon as the doors were shut.  
  
"Not quite, " replied Joe, "You get a robe and tunic, and a set of artillery of your choice."  
  
"...You sound like a salesperson when you talk like that..."  
  
Of course, their conversation launched off into a debate of accents and dialect. Naurglahad did not miss a second chance to peek over the wall of the rounding outdoor walkway. Torches still burned along the path that lead to the three great iron doors, which were now shut and unavailable to incoming soldiers. The body of the tower seemed to be singing with the working chants of slaves. From her position, she could see miles and miles of black land, probably rich with building materials. To think, if Naurglahad were to succeed in her mission, she could own all of this.  
  
Her fantasies blurred away from her mind as she entered a wide hall of weapons. Hilts of black, auburn, scarlet, and steel supported blades from the size of a dagger, to the length of the javelin she had a few days ago... wherever that was. Wherever anything was. The swords ranged from sleek and straight, to rusty and jagged. Or perhaps she could select something from the archery department, seeing the great arrows that lay in a bronze quiver. And then again, an iron mace would definitely whack off someone's head.   
  
Weapons to Naurglahad was like diamonds to modern women. She jumped and screamed "I want that one! And that one! Oh! And that one over there!". Naturally, Joe advised that she only take three weapons on her mission. A sword and two daggers could be a good combination. Yet, Naurglahad never let anyone come between herself and her choice of weapons. So, after fifteen minutes of pacing back and forth around the hall, she walked out carrying a dagger, a short sword, and a double-bladed spear with a black and scarlet handle. She was swift and skilful with this weapon and it was her personal favorite.  
  
"Here are the garments you inquired about," announced Joe when he had received a parcel dropped from a flock of crows that had swooped into the tower. In it was a black tunic with long, full sleeves and ankle-length. Also came a woolen dark gray cloak with an ivory clasp, a belt, and a set of gloves that left the tip of her fingers bare and came up to near her elbows.  
  
"Change in this room," Joe continued in his instructions. He opened a door which lead to a very dull and gray room with no windows. It was completely bare and empty, save the empty rusty shackles that hung from the ceiling and a dusty full-length mirror that leaned against a wall. After he had closed the door, she slipped her uniform on. It fit comfortably and snugly, unlike the belt to carry her weapons. But she wasn't going to let that stop her from carrying her beloved spear.  
  
Taking the dagger from its tin sheathe, she cut a slit on the right side of her skirt, and brought it up to her thigh. Modest-wise, she was lucky to be wearing a pair of dark spandex-like shorts underneath the tunic. She buckled the belt to the widest notch and wore it as a diagonal strap across her chest. On this, she hooked her spear, short sword, and dagger.   
  
As she looked into the mirror, she shook her head. Something was wrong. Or... something was unbalanced.  
_  
Rip!_  
  
Off came her left sleeve with a strong sharp tug. Now not only was her left leg bare, but so was her left arm. _Much_ better.   
  
With the extra cloth from her sleeve, she unhooked her dagger from the belt, and strapped it around her leg with the fabric.  
  
"Ah," she sighed as she threw her cloak over her shoulder, "Not bad."   
  


* * *

Support the Black Lands!  
  
  



	6. Last Biddings

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Lord of the Rings_. It rightfully and respectfully belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.  
  


* * *

  
  
** Set It Off!**  
  
  
As Naurglahad bent down to re-tie the shoelace of her knee-high leather boot, there came a faint tinkle and a clear thud simultaneously. Looking around the room to find what had caused it, a sparkle of gold caught her eye.   
  
The golden ring that she had picked up earlier must have had rolled out of the pocket of her old tunic. It was laying on the floor right now, silent as it ever was. She had forgotten all about it, having just sworn her service to a lidless eye and had company by a hooded figure without a face, not to mention being thrown out of her world and into another. She still had to figure the riddle of that situation.   
  
Just as she was about to pick the ring up, high shrieks and screeching came from outside the door. The whole tower seemed to rumble with an awakening.   
  
Naurglahad took the ring and held it in her fist, ready to jump out of the doorway and fend off intruders with her new weapons, but as soon as the screeching had come, it passed. She paused and thought. She deliberately dropped the ring. The shrieks came again. She picked it up. They stopped. She dropped it again. Screaming. She picked it up again. Silence. Naurglahad kept experimenting with the screaming and the ring. After a few tries, she found it quite amusing.  
  
"On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On! Off!"  
  
Joe burst through the door with a long pointed sword drawn just as she slipped the ring into her right boot. He was aimed to strike something, but refrained when he didn't sense the tantalizing call that had kept summoning him. He sniffed the air vigorously before returning his sword to his scabbard. Disappointment came over him. Naurglahad had just shaken the ring until it was actually under her foot. Oh well. She followed the Wraith out of the door without a word or question, wincing slightly from the band that was crushing into her heel.   
  
Along the way, Joe informed her that she had to see one last superior before she could depart on her mission. He actually informed her of who she was about to see this time. Naurglahad was to meet the Witchking of Angmar to receive a few last notices and her official mark that would seal her allegiance to the Eye.  
  
Past more dead corridors and out a southern balcony Joe lead her, and through a wooden door with iron bindings he locked her in. A creature that uncannily resembled Joe (and all of the other Riders) stood in the room behind the door. The only difference between this Rider and the rest was that he had a great helm* upon his brow, like a crown.  
  
"You'd be the Witchking, right?" Naurglahad remarked pointedly, shifting her weight as she crossed her arms.  
  
"Yes, child," the Witchking , "Now hush and come closer."  
  
Naurglahad's eyes widened in panic. "What? What are you going to do?"  
  
"Oh, nothing," replied the Witchking airily, "Nothing too painful..."  
  
Naurglahad was about to back up into the door until another shock of energy came over her. This time, instead of feeling power, she felt some sort of growth rising in her heart. Things did not turn faint and blurry in blackness, but clear and intense in waves of crimson. It was so clear that she became dizzy. Her blood began pounding in her ears as she clutched her stomach, swerving on her knees like a serpent before its charmer. As she felt the caps of her knees collide with the coldness of the alabaster floor, something burning hot was pressed against her thigh. She opened her mouth to roar in pain, but only a weakened squeak came out though her lips.  
  
There was a flash of contrasted black and white before she came back into reality. The Witchking was handing a slim pole to an goblin-like slave. The tip of one side had a flat surface on it. It had burning coals on it.   
  
Naurglahad yanked up her left short pant in realization that she had been prodded by a cattle burner. A black patch of skin smoked there, etched into the delicate shape of a diamond-like eye. A thin line encircled the eye in a messy pattern, illustrated to give the effect of flames. The blackness of her new mark was so shiny that the drawn inferno really did look like it was burning. It definitely felt like it was burning.  
  
"You are now an official servant of the Eye," the Witchking announced, "With it, you are given His Mind, His Protection, and His Strength." Seeing the confused and pained look on the girl's face, he continued to explain her new abilities, "His Mind gives you contact to Lord Sauron. You may call upon his great wisdom if you are in trouble. His Protection shall prevent his army, our orcs," the goblin creature that held the poker behind the Witchking barred its yellow fangs in a grin. Naurglahad grimaced. "Shall not harm you, though you are free to hurt them. And His Strength will give you the power to defeat the Ringbearer and his companions in whatever strategy you plan to carry out.... You are dismissed."  
  
  
** ~*~**  
  
  
Even after she had mounted one of Mordor's black horses with Joe and a few fellows, and ridden for hours upon hours out of the Black Land, Naurglahad could still feel the burn sting on her leg. She was amazed that none of the three riders that accompanied her had said anything about how badly she maimed her uniform. But she figured that perhaps the Riders could not see. She imagined that Joe would have cried out in exasperated horror or something. She concluded that it was probably good luck that they couldn't see her.  
  
"Where are we to find the Ringbearer?" she asked Joe later on. It was noon, and the Riders figured that they should stop and rest for a little while. Actually, they were stopping to figure out where the exactly were.  
  
"At the foot of a mountain called Cadharas," replied the Nazgul as he adjusted the reins upon his horse's bridle. It snorted and pawed its stained hooves at the earth. Naurglahad admired these steeds with awe. They were huge and muscular with strong legs and wild manes of silk raven that fluttered fiercely in the wind. It would have gotten in the face of the horse's mounter if it hadn't been for the gray steel armor that lay upon it's brow. Their coats were jet black with a velvet touch, and their eyes gleamed a bloody rouge like the setting sun through a scarlet dusk. Dark bloodstains dripped from their horseshoes which had been brutally nailed into their hooves. Beautiful creatures they were.  
  
"Or Redhorn," Joe continued. He re-mounted his steed simultaneously with the others, "In the Common Tongue if you prefer. Let us be on our way now!" He took the lead of the group and nudged his horse thrice with his pointed metal shoes. Then they were off riding into the midday, across the rocky caverns of the Ash Mountains.   
  
It took almost a week of journeying across foreign towns and wild lands. They had leaped through great forests with towering trees that seemed to scrape the sky itself; mighty rivers that echoed in soft streams alongside the forests; rockfields and wheat colored stalks of grass that covered rolling hills and more mountains; passed an alliance in his constructing tower; and over one last mountain ridge that was unclear with fog.   
  
Finally, there was a dying fire light in the distance behind a Rockwell. Naurglahad had dismounted at this point and crept over a nearby boulder. Now was the time to use the stealth and skill she had to prove herself.   
  
Like a wildcat hunting it's prey she crawled alongside the foot of the boulder on all fours, using her fingers and toes more than her palms and knees. Lightly brushing the hilt of her dagger, she confirmed that she would have defense if she was attacked. Then she crouched and extended her legs to keep her going, firmly touching the rock she crept along. She kept one hand on her dagger as she carefully peered over the edge of the rock.  
  
What she saw made her jaw drop.  
  
Chaos-chan and two of her other female friends, whom she instantly recognized as Megan and Jackie, were sitting by the fireside next to the company she had tried to slaughter earlier. "So," she thought bitterly, taking her hand away from the dagger, "This is the Fellowship of the Ring.... Who was the fool who chose this group of weaklings to defend this land?"  
  
She decided to keep her mouth shut as she ducked into the shadows of the night and poked her right ear forward.   
  
"The Ring has been lost," moaned a Halfling... Frito or something was his name. "If it is anywhere, then it must be in the hands of Sauron! We are all doomed!"  
  
"Don't loose faith, lad," said Aragorn determinedly, "As long as we are still the Fellowship, there is still hope for Middle-earth."  
  
"Lovely speech, Strider," said Sam as he clapped a hand to his chest, "Now if only we could do something to make it happen!"  
  
"Find the Ring first, of course!" gruffed the dwarf, Gimli as he crossed his arms.  
  
"It's probably where you'd least expect it!" said Jackie.  
  
"Isn't that the truth?" pointed Merry.  
  
"But what actions are we to take?" asked Legolas.  
  
There was a moment of worried silence as each member sat around the fire, staring into its fading embers.  
  
And then Naurglahad breathed.  
  
In a flash, half of the Fellowship was on their feet, weapons drawn, pointing into random areas of shadow, expecting an orc to fall on top of them.  
  
"Time to make my appearance."  
  
Slowly and gracefully, she rose to her feet out of her hiding place, the light of the fires casting Sauron's shadow upon the outline of her face. Her cloak fell over her shoulders like her dark auburn hair that became black in the night. A single clear bead of sweat trickled down her left temple. And between her fingers, she bore the glittering band of gold: the One Ring of Power.  
  


* * *

*I know I read somewhere about what the Witchking's helm looked like. I couldn't remember if it was "great/black/big/scary" or "great/white/big/scary".  
  
  



	7. Elvish Arrows

**Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien!**  


* * *

  
  
**Author's Note:**  
  
Sorry, but this chapter is going to have to be a bit short. It's mostly an action scene, and yeah yeah blah blah. I have a lot of work on my hands, including some work that is really supposed to be completed by a special little friend of mine that can't get up and write! So currently, I have... over seven different fics that I have to keep up with. I'll try the best I can! Wish me luck... I'll need it.  
_ -Naurglahad_  


* * *

  
**  
SET IT OFF!**  
  
A slim arrow was aimed at her neck from afar, strung in a bow by none other than Legolas Greenleaf. Their eyes met again. Legolas showed great disgust of her in his clear orbs of blue. She had done enough damage to his companions, had she not? First striking them, then imprisoning them, threatening to eat them, chasing them across a wild desert, and now she toyed with the One Ring between her filthy mortal fingers; clad in the most disgraceful garments he had ever laid his eyes upon. Now if only that presence in the corner of his mind could stop telling him to resist firing the arrow.  
  
Naurglahad's eyes bore no mercy. She had the Dark Lord Sauron and his mighty army for an alliance. It was impossible for such a insignificant team of troops to conquer Mordor and it's ruler. She could prove this to herself so easily. Taking two long strides to the elf, she clasped the blade of his arrow between her index finger and thumb. For some reason, the arrow seemed to sting and burn her fingers, but His Strength was still running in her veins. This next movement would determine her power. Her time had come. She'd set it off!* ...But then again, it was just an arrow, so---  
  
Snap!  
  
The head of the arrow fell to the earth, and with a sweep of the mortal's foot, it had been cast into the flames of the small campfire.   
  
An all-out offense.  
  
"Is this yours?" she asked finally, breaking the tension of silence. The Ring was still in her grasp. "Because if it is..." The hobbits seemed to rise on their grubby little toes as she spoke. "Then you should come and claim it!"  
  
The whispers of Sauron came into sound as she carelessly tossed the Ring high into the air... directly over the flames. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. The loop of gold reflected the simple crackle of the campfire turned as a spurt of Ancalagon's breath. And when that blast of inferno began to subside, the elvish markings began to glow in its perfect engravings. Frodo jumped. Boromir jumped. Soon after, almost the rest of the Fellowship came leaping into the action.  
  
It was lucky that Aragorn had good aim this time.   
  
He had strung an arrow into his bow and knocked the Ring off it's falling course. No-one caught the Ring. Not even the three Nazgul that had leaped over the rock just as the Ring took it's decline from the air. Another arrow from the Heir of Isildur came flying, but it was blocked by a gleaming Morgul blade, wielded by the first Wraith on the right.   
  
Boromir and Joe parried to the left, then cut to the right. As the Rider jabbed, the mortal took another parry and tried to trip his opponent. But Joe's plant on the ground was too firm, and he kicked Boromir to the side on his back. He was about to plunge his wicked sword into his fallen foe, until a hot coal came flying into the Nazgul's face.   
  
His inconvenient vulnerability to fire came obvious again as the rest of his robes burst into flames. Naurglahad watched in horror at her far corner of the scene. She heard his cries of pain clearly in her head. It hurt to hear them. To hear the only real friend she had made in this world shriek in torment. Who was the foolish member of that accursed band that tossed that coal?   
  
Her furious eyes did not miss in spotting a hobbit dust his sooty hands off before reaching at his waist to claim his short sword. Without care for anyone else in the world, save Joe, she unleashed her titanic blade from Mordor. She took quick, strong steps toward her victim, twirling her shining spear in the air. The hobbit realized her approach and tried to escape by scrambling onto his feet in attempt to hide behind a rock. She knew he couldn't escape from her. She wanted her revenge.  
  
A whistle in the air signaled her flying dagger, which stabbed right through the hem of the poor halfling's cloak, tethering him to the earth. He stumbled and fell onto his stout knees. Now was the perfect and planned chance to slay her first victim, and that would be all she needed to do to complete the mission.   
  
But another whistle came into existence. And it ended with a soft thud... in Naurglahad's right ribcage. Legolas had finally managed to fire an arrow at his new foe. She stopped dead in her position; blade raised and foot on the dagger. But a rip told her that her prey had escaped and took shelter with his friends behind a rock that was in the far corner. That stupid elf! Not only had she lost her well-chosen target because of him, but now she was wounded. She had failed Joe.  
  
Naurglahad would have been completely out of control with frustrated anger if Sauron's given abilities hadn't reached her. His Mind gave her a message:  
  
"Leave the Wraiths," it spoke in it's deep withering tone, "Claim the Ring. The Wraiths shall be live. Claim the Ring."  
  
As she fell to her knees, smearing her bleeding wound with her fingers, she watched Joe and his companions flee from the site. At least she was glad to know that he would be all right. He would live. And she knew she would. She had never been shot by an arrow before, but her harsh training in her homeland had taught her what to do in these situations; to commit the obvious: ...pull it out.   
  
Relaxing, she lay the rest of herself down to the dirt, and clutched the arrow firmly with her right hand, occasionally readjusting her grip to make sure that it would come out easily and quickly enough. The voices of different people echoed in her ears, eventually fading into her gradually darkening thoughts.  
  
"No! Naurglahad! Don't---"  
  
"She's going to---"  
  
"I can't watch!"  
  
A sharp slip and and agonized cry announced that she had successfully pulled it out.   
  
Then, everything went black.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Working as fast as I can.... I'll get chapter 8 up some time by the end of this Age... wait. Do we have Ages?  
**Joe:** No. But I do, and I would say that you'll get it done by the end of the... forty-ninth Age of the Sun.  
Okay, then by this century.  
**Joe:** Better.  
  
  



	8. A Mortal Alliance

Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings. It belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.  
  


* * *

  
**  
Author's Note**:  
  
I apologize that this chapter is short again (except this one is a little boring) and that I haven't uploaded in a very long time. I don't want to use excuses. My week is driving me mad... expect an angst poem from me very soon. I hate my life. If I no-one hears from me after two months, then that means I've committed suicide and that I am now dead. Heaven or hell, I won't be able to continue a story. Sorry.  
  
_ -Naurglahad in a **Bad**__ Mood_ (I've bolded "bad" on purpose)  
  


* * *

  
  
SET IT OFF!  
  
  
"She was probably under the influence of the Nazgul. I am sure of it."  
  
"You know how they have powers of Darkness."  
  
"But she could not have been a victim when she was chasing us in the desert."  
  
"True, Master Elf. But perhaps Sauron had made a connection with her?"  
  
"Mithrandir, why would the Dark Lord appoint a mere child to do his works of evil?"  
  
"That I cannot tell, but whatever the reason, she cannot take the journey with us."  
  
"She can't?"  
  
"No. And neither are you three young ladies. We'll have to send you back to Rivendell."  
  
"And just how are you going to do that?"  
  
"That is the problem."  
  
Naurglahad used her frequent sense of smell once again to determine where she was. This time, she couldn't smell ashes and fire about her, nor could she hear the endless screams of torture echoing throughout Mordorian halls. Although she had no rusting iron shackles slapped on her wrists, a smooth cord was wrapped tightly on her arms and ankles, and a piece of linen was tied around her eyes. Like the arrow from Legolas' bow, the rope and linen seemed to sting where it touched her. Her fingers twitched and writhed in search of her weapons, but could not find any of them on her waist. Her knife was gone; her short sword was gone; her spear was gone; and so was her belt.  
  
"Whoever touched my stuff will pay," she muttered wearily, shifting onto her right hip as she lay on the ground.  
  
_Ouch._  
  
She felt the fresh wound of that wretched arrow press against the soft soil of the earth. There was a woolen cloth wrapped around it. Terrible. Absolutely terrible. Now she had discovered that someone had not only touched her weapons, but also dared to place his hands on her body. That was just sick!   
  
"I believe that we may release her from her bindings," said a male voice.  
  
A silent pause was an awkward gap in the sound of conversation.   
  
"I will untie her," said another, breaking the silence as he stood from his seat and took three cautious strides towards her. Naurglahad could hear the crunch of the dirt beneath the soles of his shoes.  
  
Faint clinking told her that he was probably wearing a mail jacket. She could strongly smell the grease in his hair. He probably had a beard. When hands reached down to untie the tight cords around her, she justified that he was wearing worn riding gloves. Finally, he untied the blindfold.  
  
She was sitting in the same spot she had appeared in: in a corner where the dimming light of the fire created a shadow. A crowd of eight and three were standing there... a good six feet away from her that is. The mortal that had dueled with Joe was closest to her, and was now backing away from her, careful not to trod on the campfire parallel to her.  
  
There was another void of silence.   
  
"Are you all right?" the mortal asked, once again being the one to make a sound.  
  
Without a change of expression, Naurglahad rose to her feet, dusted herself off and cracked her knuckles. C-chan in the crows gulped. In three swift strides, she stood up to the mortal, looking sternly into his dark eyes.  
  
A whip through the air caused him to look down. Naurglahad had extended her hand to him.   
  
"I like you," she said confidently with a stern grin, "What's you name again?"  
  
"Boromir," replied he, "Son of Denethor, the Steward of Gondor."   
  
He took her hand, and she shook it. Naurglahad had made another alliance.  
  
"Well," she announced once they had parted, "I see one member of this little 'Fellowship' that isn't as much of a coward as the rest of you are! I am somewhat glad that you aren't really as sad as you all seem! That includes you three blithering idiots hiding in the darkness back there!" C-chan, Megan, and Jackie blinked simultaneously. "So? ...What are you waiting for?" She pointed at Frodo. "You have the Ring in your pocket, I know that! I smell it. Off on your quest!"  
  
The Fellowship stood in their spots, somewhat confused at the orders she had just given them. In fact, they wondered: "Why should you be the one to give us orders?" inquired Legolas harshly, "You have only just arrived! How did you get here anyway?"  
  
"If I knew how I had gotten here," Naurglahad retorted, turning herself to face him in a showdown sort of way, "I would have figured out a way to reverse it, and I would be at home! Do you think I enjoy your presence? Do you think I enjoy any of your pretenses? No!---"  
  
"Neither of you enjoy each other's presence's," boomed Gandalf, cracking the banter before it could start, "And we can clearly see that! What we must do is not sit here in this desolate place, but move on! Let us climb the mountains! We haven't much time!"  
  
The female mortal and the male elf's eyes broke off again from their furious stares as the old Istari nudged both of them to face south; at the peak of Caradhas.  
  
  
  
  



	9. Climbing Redhorn

**Dislcaimer:** I do not own The Lord of the Rings. It belongs to J. R. R. Tolkien  
  


* * *

** Author's Note:**  
I tried to make this chapter as long as I could to make it interseting and to leave off without a smack in the wall (which does not include cliffhangers! Mwahaha!) I am out of my bad mood and back iin my hyper insane-ness! Who wants to help me push Legolas off a cliff?!! I want to kill him to save him! Save him from the Mary-Sues! Mwahahaha!  


* * *

  
SET IT OFF!  
  
  
The thought of climbing a snowcapped mountain had not reached Naheka's mind when she had only taken a woolen cloak with her on Sauron's Quest. But now that she_ was_ scaling a snowcapped mountain with just her cloak... in the winter time, she slightly quaked with worry as she looked up into the bloodstained red hills of Caradhras. The crisp snow was tainted pink from the rouge rocks beneath it, which struck up to the gray sky as if the rocks were fierce waves crashing up against a black coral shore.   
  
It reminded her of the Irakhi Mountains, the desolate range that bordered the perimeter of the desert she lived in. Beyond that was the rolling plains of Ghadliste, and west of that was Sabitlham, a dark and misty jungle of a forest, consisting wild flora and fauna. The Yegmista River was the only water source there, save the weekly rainstorms of the south. In the south, the Lahkhie Sea never rested in the perpetual hurricanes. Luckily, the Ulbaht Islands were at the mid-north area, several hundred miles above Sabitlham. _Kima_ fish were a fine delicacy cooked only in that region of her home. Now, in the winter would be the time that her division would travel across the seas to settle in the islands for better climate, and to alternate training exercises. They were always greeted with a fine feast of _Kima_, that soft tender white meat, pasted in butter and topped with---  
  
"Crackers?" offered a monotonous Jackie, shaking a leaf green package in front of Naheka's face.  
  
"_Lembas_!" corrected C-chan, "And don't give 'em all away! I'm savin' them for me midnight snacks!" She hastily snatched the package out of Jackie's hand.  
  
"Hobbits have been a bad influence on you," said Megan, shaking her head as she took a small gallop over a knoll of the red stone, "You're lucky that I'm not hungry."  
  
"She would have scarfed the whole thing down before you could say 'Rivendell'," muttered Jackie.  
  
C-chan hugged her lembas and stroked them protectively. Gandalf smiled and gently shook his head as he continued to ascend to another level of mountain. Legolas leapt lightly and gracefully from peak to peak like a young stag through it's home forest. Gimli and Boromir climbed slowly and vigorously a few feet behind them, and the hobbits cautiously gripped onto each other in hopes of not toppling over into reverse of their quest.   
  
Naheka shivered as she felt a slight breeze pass over her bare shoulder. Throwing her woolen cloak over her back, she wished to have her leather tunic and leggings... but wait! She did have them! She had brought them with her when she had left Mordor with her Nazgul companions. They now rested at the bottom of a hard leather sack that was strapped loosely on her back. She could put them on at their next stop.   
  
"Finally," she thought happily, "A positive turn in this horrid mess of an adventure!"  
  
Then she decided to have an unfair race between herself and her female companions up the mountain, where Naheka started at least two yards above their heads.  
  
  
** ~*~**  
  
She had won the race easily. After bounding with her strong legs up a high diagonal course of rocks, she curved between the chain of fearful scaling hobbits, then had to clamber swiftly with her hands and toes up an even higher surface of mountain. For a while, she competed with Boromir and Gimli, stopping to rest a blink every ten or so minutes. However, Legolas was not in the mood for such "child's play" as he took the lead ahead of the wizard and kept the teenager out of his sight. Although, she did toss a well-aimed snowball at his head. To his annoyance, and her delight, the snowball had rocks in it.  
  
The poor elf massaged his head where a particularly hard and jagged stone knocked him round the head. Naheka was still laughing devilishly, even after the Fellowship had settled down at dusk to have a bite of supper, and to have a wink of sleep or two. Dinner was a few scraps of dry meat, brought from the last city that the Fellowship had been to.  
  
"It's called Rivendell," explained Sam, wiping his pans and pots clean, "It's an elf city, home of Lord Elrond. A great elf he be, a great half-elf." Naheka listened somewhat attentively as she threw on her leather tunic over her shoulders after she had removed her cloak. She felt much warmer now, being covered with warm skin all the way to both wrists. Soon, her shins would feel the same. "He's the one that puts us together in our Fellowship. We aren't letting Mr. Frodo here go off on the quest as the only hobbit, are we, Merry, Pip?"  
  
"'Course not!" agreed Merry through a cheek-full of meat. Pippin nodded fervently as he wolfed the last of his meal down his little halfling throat.  
  
Naheka smiled slightly. Though minuscule in stature they definitely were, these four hobbits had a great loyalty to each other. Admirable quality, loyalty was. Along with truth, faith, trust, and hope. A smidgen of intellect wouldn't be skin off anyone's back either. The halflings shared a mutual amount of each value. Such a positive thought was surprisingly sweet to her more than disgusting. She planned to get to know them better later on.  
  
The campfire became dim as soon as she laid her head down onto her cloak, which she had laid out onto the ground as a sort of mat. Terribly uncomfortable is was, very uncomfortable. But it didn't matter. She wouldn't be sleeping for long.  
  
  
** ~*~**  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
The whispers of the Ring of Power instantly faded out of Naheka's mind as she sprang to her feet and leapt silently and swiftly away from Frodo. Not a single flake of snow pattered into the air again with her movements. A skill learned early by any recruit trained by Ryunarasu. Her olivine eyes lit to the near yellow of a feline's eye as she spotted the only being mad enough to be awake at this hour... save herself.  
  
"Back off, elf," she spat, trekking slowly back to her area of slumber, "It is none of your business."  
  
Legolas inhaled in attempt to calm himself down. It would not be right to start an argument with a child at three o' clock in the morning. It was a stupid concept, really.   
  
"Never mind," he sighed, brushing a hand at her, "Go back to sleep. We have a long journey tomorrow."  
  
Naheka glared murderously at him when he had turned his back. She lay back down on her cloak and closed her eyes, making another plan: push Legolas either off a cliff, or into a rushing river.  
  
  
** ~*~**  
  
  
"It's Saruman!"  
  
"_Cuiva nwalca Carnirassë! Nai yarvaxëa rasselya taltuva ñotto-carinnar!_"  
  
_ Whump!_  
  
Naheka thought her neck was going to break under the avalanche of snow that had just fallen from the peaks on top of herself and the Fellowship. Bricks of ice brutally shattered any presence of warmth in her insides, and darkness was a white slab of biting cold snow. The frost seemed to have ferocious teeth as it harshly nipped her shoulders and down her spine, mercilessly tearing at her limbs and gnawing her joints.   
  
"_Losto Caradhras, sedho, hodo, nuitho i 'ruith!_"  
  
"We should have made for the Gap of Rohan!"  
  
"That would have taken us too close to Isengard!"  
  
Naheka was turning blue from the cold, starting to lose all connection with the outer world.  
  
"We shall let the Ringbearer decide!"  
  
Naheka passed out before she could hear what Frodo had to say. As she fell, she had a last thought: perhaps this journey would be tougher than she thought it would be. Judging by the simultaneous light wispy thuds beside her, C-chan, Megan, and Jackie had fainted too.   
  


* * *

I made a written preview for the next fic in this trilogy that I'll be working on which is the sequel to Aldarion. The story's gonna' be _packed_ with romance, angst, drama, action, and surprises! Angst, angst, angst! I wanted to post it up on ff.net, but previews aren't allowed, and I don't want to give trouble to anyone. If you're interested in this mini-fic preview, mention it in a review and **leave your e-mail address**! I'll e-mail it to you. It's a song fic. Thanks!  
-Naheka  
  



	10. Her Foreign Friends

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings. It belongs to JRR Tolkien.**  
  


* * *

  
**  
Author's Note:**  
Sorry I couldn't post for such a long time! I had this ready on Thursday, but ff.net locked my uploading ability because I had an old chatroom fic on my list. They deleted it... and I'm glad. I never really loved that story as much as I cherish my other senseless, yet entertaining... thingies of literature. I couldn't upload until the 26th. So, here it is! Enjoy!  
_ -Naheka_  
  


* * *

  
  
SET IT OFF!  
  
  
Two suns had set and a moon had risen before the tweenager regained consciousness. She felt damp and cold underneath her worn leather tunic and leggings, her woolen cloak tinted with winter snowflakes. She could still see the pinnacles of red erupting beneath the snow capped mountain, clear with bloodstain as it had been before she fell. Judging by the way they all seemed to be running away from her like a stream of ants crawling beneath her, someone was carrying her down the way.   
Well, her feet were a bit sore, so Naheka thought that perhaps she would take advantage of the opportunity and let the man take her down. She figured that he was Boromir, as he was the only one who seemed to be brave enough of the Fellowship to come anywhere near her. Good for him. But... she didn't recall Boromir having long blonde hair and a set of knives over a green jacket. She cursed in her native tongue.  
  
"Argh! _Lo elfay fluzach! Mi heluta a ozur!_*"   
  
A clash of Mordorian and elvish knives came with a flash as Naheka bounded off Legolas' shoulder and unsheathed a weapon. Upon discovering that she was challenged by her opponent, a quick twiddle, taught to her by her masters, flicked the knife out of his grasp, into the air, and between her skilled fingers. With a grin, she ran her slender index finger along the elvish runes engraved upon the blade. Her almond-shaped eyes widened at its touch. Ignoring the sting the elvish craft issued once again, she gave it a few fancy twirls for amusement. She loved how light it was, not to mention the fine forging.  
  
As quick as the girl had obtained the weapon, it was hastily snatched out of her grasp again. Slipping her own nine-inch blade into the scabbard on her thigh, she had the intentions to spit at Legolas' feet like she did at their first meeting. But she figured that she would save her saliva for a better opportunity. When she could spit in his face. That would get him good.  
  
Without a word, the elf prince kept walking down Caradhas' slopes, surpassing Frodo and hobbit company so that he journeyed beside Gandalf. Naheka noticed that Aragorn and Boromir were carrying Megan and C-chan. Yet Jackie was nowhere to be seen at the moment. Scratch that. Jackie was tagging at her left side at the very moment, snickering to herself.  
  
"Are you mocking me?" the taller of them, Naheka, inquired acidly. "Because if you are, I will be happy to practice knife throwing on you."  
  
"No need to get touchy!" replied Jackie, waving her hand in the air. "Besides... you would not be able to catch me!"  
  
An incantation muttered from under her breath caused her to fade out of sight for a millisecond, and reappear at Naheka's right side. The bounty hunter's bottom lip curled, her fingers brushing against her knife again.   
  
Jackie, like C-chan, and also like Megan, seemed to have united with Naheka in a mysterious way. There was a hidden trial behind their quad's abnormal friendship. Jackie was a sorceress-in-training, as she claimed to be in her homeland... whatever that was to her. In dark blue robes and matching tunic, a thick leather belt with a shining brass buckle bore a few handy trinkets. Magic trinkets. A crescent moon carved of pearl hung loosely at her neck. Naheka had often marveled at this lovely piece of jewelry, but hadn't bothered to ask where she had gotten it. She had a feeling that it might do something to her like... well, place an everlasting itch charm on her nose. Ridiculous fear it seemed, but who would want their nose to have a constant irking desire for scratching? Torture.   
  
"Don't think your immature tricks can fool me," she whispered glaring straight into Jackie's face. Jackie blinked as she tilted her head, strands of raven black hair falling into her thin face. "For I," The emerald green eyes faded out of Jackie's sight, signaling warm breath behind her, and a knife tip prodding her scalp ever so gently. "Posses an identical talent."  
  
"Bounty hunters, especially assassins are really creepy at times," Jackie commented without emotion.  
  
"Excuse me," said Naheka, instantly snapping out of her murderous phase. "But I believe fighting for your family is a much better occupation than being a traveling gypsy of a magician!"  
  
"Gypsy? Where did _that_remark come from?"  
  
"...Never mind. My point is that at least I have origination! Where _did_ you come from?"  
  
"My homeland!" exclaimed Jackie, spreading her arms wide, "Toward the Great Beyond!"  
  
"_Where's that?_"  
  
"...I dunno'."  
  
Jackie's utter ignorance of location brushed Naheka's intention to ask how she had come to Middle-earth. They probably fell in like she did... except she fell in Rivendell, the "marvelous elf city", according to C-chan's fanciful tales. Lucky blithering fools. They didn't have to come to a smog stained land and make a soul-selling deal with a flaming eye of Darkness. Nor did they have to tolerate Saruman the White's greeting customs. Nearly slaughtered by orc fiends was certainly a cheery way to welcome a new alliance! ...That must've been why he had no mercy for her when he had cast the spell unto Caradhas.  
  
A snowball at her head crashed Naheka's thoughts, and initiated a duel between herself and her friend. She'd brood later.  
  
  
**~*~**  
  
"The Shire, eh?" asked Naheka as she changed her position lying on top of a smooth boulder. She and Merry had been conversing lightly for the last hour or so. Gandalf and Jackie were leaning against the tall surface of Moria's West Wall. The decoration glowed softly with light of the moon, illuminating the leaves upon the sprouting trees, and the dwarvish anvil below working hammer. Gandalf was on the ground, looking intently up at the engravings, as the young sorceress was cursing and shouting at the inanimate stone.  
  
"Yes," replied Merry, "A lovely country in the Western ere..." He launched off into a detailed reminiscent description of his home fields and roads, explaining every tree to the last leaf. Naheka listened attentively to his words. The Shire sounded like a pretty place indeed. She thought if she couldn't make it back, and if she had failed Sauron's Quest, then perhaps she could build a hut near the Old Woods. She sighed. She was already making plans for her permanent stay in this foreign land. It seemed ridiculous. Her, suddenly thrown into another world, giving up hope about returning home. But she wasn't going to give up. Not yet. Not now.  
  
At that moment, Megan came strolling by, pacing in utter boredom with every step. She gave a stressed whine as she bucked C-chan off the stone she was sleeping on, and sat on the spot she had kept warm in her slumber. C-chan remained asleep on the ground, snoring slightly as if she had never been bothered. Both females raised an amused eyebrow at her.  
  
"This is junk," Megan grunted. "How long do we have to wait before the door opens? We should've crossed the Gap o' Rohan."  
  
"Do you even know where the Gap of Rohan is?" Naheka inquired, her brow still raised.  
  
"Nah," she replied. "Just being fancy."  
  
Megan was a simple, yet intelligent being from another world which Naheka did not know of. (Goodness, it_ did_ annoy her to have aliens for friends...). She specialized in archery, yet she had recently discovered that she rivaled with Legolas' skills. It evidently seemed that the elf was a master of such a fighting technique, and had not seen another archer in her homeland that had such accuracy as his. Megan appreciated that, but did not admire it. Naheka had snorted and laughed when she reported this to her.  
  
"She sleeps like a rock," the female archer continued, looking down at her snoozing friend upon the earth.   
  
"She _is_ a rock!" exclaimed Naheka, laughing in jest with Megan. C-chan did not stir.  
  
"_Mellon!_"  
  
Both girls, and the Fellowship turned. Jackie was angrily bumping her forehead on a nearby tree as Gandalf and Frodo backed up to witness the West Gates thunder open slowly with the dragging of stone doors.  
  


* * *

  
*Translation: _You stupid elf! I'll kill you for that!_  



	11. Furious

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Lord of the Rings. It belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.  
  


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**Author's Note:**  
I'll see if I can get a chapter up a week or so. Working ASAP. That, and I'm also working on a couple sites, picture sites. I've suddenly become attached to drawing on the computer, and now I have a good excuse to spend a few hours doing it! Yay!  
_ -Naheka_  
  


* * *

  
SET IT OFF!  
  
  
"Whoo... It's dark in there."  
  
"No, really? I haven't noticed!"  
  
"Hey, lay off on the sarcasm, Rogue. The Spark has spoken."  
  
"Not my fault Fluffy here can't stand a bit of bitter whip lashes."  
  
"Guys, just shut up. You're giving me a headache."  
  
"Perhaps that's my intentions, Slick."  
  
"What are you girls talking about?"  
  
Naheka delivered a raspberry in response to Boromir's inquiry. Megan howled with bubbling laughter, suddenly snapping out of her tired headache mode and stumbling over C-chan's straggling foot. She toppled over into Jackie, who pushed Naheka over and into the Steward. He was the only one who kept his grip on the earth as the tweenagers fell in a simultaneous thud.  
  
"Rogue, Spark, Fluffy, and Slick," recited Aragorn. "I find that rather amusing, yet pitiful."  
  
"It's called 'sad'," interpreted Megan, or Slick, not making any attempt to get back up on her feet.  
  
"Sadness is mournful---" said Legolas, preparing to say his opinion until a rock flew directly over his blonde head, and dinged off Gimli's dwarvish helmet.  
  
"Shut up, elf," mocked Rogue, Naheka, loudly. "And screw you!"  
  
"Naheka!" groaned Jackie, Spark. "You don't want to say things like that!"  
  
"Oh yeah," she replied in rememberance. "...Dammit."  
  
"Stop swearing, child," said Gandalf finally to end the pointless and rude conversation. "We haven't time for games."  
  
"And they call it a mine!" continued Gimli, slightly annoyed that the four extra members of the company had interrupted him. "A mine!"  
  
"And it's so ugly!" whispered C-chan. The girls shared a rolling snicker.  
  
Aragorn paused and looked around. "It's not a mine," he muttered as Gandalf's newly lit staff cast the strong white glow about the darkness. "It's a tomb."  
  
The girls shrieked in realization that they were lying beside a rotting dwarvish corpse, and scrambled to their feet, jumping up and down, running about as if they were possessed by foul Salem witchcraft* of some sort. They all clung onto each other, shivering and breathing fervently. Legolas crouched to the dusty stone floor and yanked an arrow out of a corpse. "Goblins!" he cried.  
  
Then, a horrid smelling, hideous blue tentacle shot out at them, taking Master Frodo as it whipped in the air. In a flash, Aragorn had unsheathed his sword and sprinted out into the lake, chopping and cutting at the wriggling arms with great accuracy and speed. Legolas was instantly found launching arrows at tender targets. But the second available archer was not there beside him. Megan was still hyperventilating, sort of, still in shock of breathing the same air a dead thing had. But as Jacke and C-chan backed up into darkness, Naheka was... well, valiantly, but actually _foolishly_ charging out there into the fight. She liked fighting. She loved fighting. No. Scratch that. _She loved killing._  
  
"Gimmie' that," she said quickly, snatching Megan's bow and quiver from the archer's shivering hands. Leaping upon the precipice of the boulder she was sitting on earlier, she fired a single arrow simultaneously with the elf that stood next to her. Their arrows dinged off course as they banged into each other.   
  
One could probably hear the energetic '_Foom!_', the flames of competition burning again. The rogue and prince had unwillingly turned the fight into a competition, and one between supposed alliances at that. Yet for every shot Naheka had made, Legolas seemed to do better. For example, in the millisecond that Naheka had punctured a tentacle, Legolas had wisely shot the wretched face, which was beginning to erupt from the violently bubbling surface of the lake. She went "boom", he went "bang", one could say for a wide contrast.  
  
Frodo looked as if he were falling from the sky itself as Aragorn's slice cleaved the hobbit's chain tentacle. In the blur of water, it was difficult to see whether Boromir or Aragorn had caught him, but it didn't matter. In seconds, everyone had to flee into the Mine as the creature took a final strike, crushing the West wall into a barrier, "_Into the gateway! Up the stairs! Quick!_" the Fellowship and company... now locked behind it.  
  
  
**~*~**  
  
  
Naheka was still sulking, even after the hours and hours later when the Fellowship had stopped at the three-way pass that Gandalf did not recall. If there was anything Naheka could not stand, it was someone beating her when she thought she could do better. She hated losing. And now, she hated her competitor more than anything. What could she do to get rid of him?  
  
"Why so sullen, child?" inquired Boromir in a whisper so as to not disturb the Istari in his intense concentration.  
  
"Nothing," she muttered in reply. She grunted and got up from her seat beside a once again slumbering C-chan, and went off a few yards to find a good stone wall. When she had found a tall pillar, withering away in shame in the far corner, she cracked her knuckles and just began punching the wall. It hurt her fists badly, turning them red and sore, but she endured it for the first few strikes. She was so furious. She hated it all. All of it. She hated being stuck here. She hated being on this stupid quest. She hated having that sting on her thigh where the mark of the Eye was. She hated having that sting on her fingers whenever she touched Elven craft. She hated it all. All of it.  
  
"What are you looking at?" she spat acidly at Pippin, who had come up to her to offer her a staling cracker and to ask what troubled her. The hobbit frowned before offering her the cracker again. She turned her cheek and began beating the wall again, knuckles becoming red on the verge of bleeding. Pippin shook his head slightly before sticking the cracker in one of her pouches at her belt. Then he squeaked and waddled back to his fellow hobbit companions.  
  
Naheka stopped punching, staring down at the little wafer poking out of her pouch. She sighed. Well, she didn't have to be so angry all the time. Returning to the camp fire, she nudged C-chan to the side and began munching on her cracker without a word. She shot a small, friendly smile to Peregrin, who was sitting across the way from her. His eyes widened as he waved back. Chuckling, she finished the rest of her cracker in a few bites before taking out her knife, and picking up a stone. She began sharpening it.  
  
"What's that for?" asked Jackie.  
  
"You'll see..."  
  
  
** ~*~**  
  
  
  
She had watched Gimli, son of Gloìn** weep over Balin's tomb. And now he stood bellowing like an angry whale, ax wielded and eyes burning, awaiting the orcs to come charging through the barred wooden doors. Legolas and Aragorn had bows drawn and were standing right in front of the dwarf, ready to fire at long distance. Now Naheka could use the plan she had stored in the back of her mind for the past journey through the Mines of Moria.  
  
Slipping a sharpened stone out from her pouch, which was now filled with rocks, and into a handkerchief (which just happened to be C-chan's), she twirled it in the air and slung it through a hole. Orc shrieks came. 'Well,' Naheka thought in satisfaction. 'This'll work just fine for me!'   
  
Taking more steps back, just behind Gimli, she thrust a second stone into a crack, followed by an arrow from Legolas.  
  
_ Boom!_  
  
Orcs flooded the tomb like scarab beetles to a corpse. The battle began.  
  
"C-chan!" hollered Naheka. "Catch!" She tossed her pouch of stones into her friend's hand, then continued fighting with her spear.   
  
It was all a blur of rotting skin and swords. Her head probably would have hit the floor if it hadn't been for Sauron's protection. She had to admit, this was rather intense combat, even for a trained fighter like herself. But the levels struck up as thundering echoed through the battle. The cave troll was approaching.  
  
  


* * *

*I watched a video on the Salem Witchtrials at school... God, that was freaky. They were all going crazy and stuff... Aieek!  
** I figured out how to get the little symbol thingies up! Yippee!  
  
  



	12. Journey Through the Mines

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings. It belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.**  
  


* * *

  
**Author's Note:**  
Naheka's name has been changed. Her name is **NOT** Naheka. Her real name is Naurglahad [nar-gla-hod]. It is actual name given to her by her biological family, therefore, she will be addressed as that. Handy fact: in her native language, "Naurglahad" means "the betrayer" or "the foresaker". I am foreshadowing... mwahahaha.  
Anything against this new change (and I'm confident that there will be either few or none) will not be listened to because I have made up my mind! Yay! She's doomed.  
Anyways... I've been mostly working on The File Cabinet, so I apologize for the very late update to all have been looking forward to this...But aside from that...  
  
On with the fic! Tally-ho!  
  


* * *

  
SET IT OFF!  
  
  
  
Naurglahad almost tripped as C-chan took a dive right under her in attempt to escape from a powerful troll club smashing into the ground. Bits of stone and debris flew into the air, and when she had shielded her eyes, it was thanks to some strong moving force that pushed her out of the way. Her back met a crumbling stone pillar as she stumbled aside, the force still pressing against her.  
  
"Pay attention!" hissed the force. "You'll die the next time you forget!"  
  
Naurglahad angrily shoved the force off her chest with her elbow and charged off into battle again. She was ready this time as she took two to the head with a single swing. She could get used to this.  
  
"Where do you think you're going?"  
  
With a yank, she was flung and pushed up against the pillar again. Her black pupils darted back and forth confusedly, starting to lose thoughts concerning what she was supposed to be doing. Her friends were huddled at her ankles, weapons drawn only for matters of defense. And as for the force, it was Boromir, who averted his shield just in time to block an orcish arrow from flying at her face. Naurglahad's brow furrowed as her eyes questioned Boromir without words.  
  
"I told you," he replied with speech. "You will die. Stay here and defend. You can't fight out there."  
  
Naurglahad's legs weakened as she slumped to the ground, joining with the shivering puddle that was her trio of friends. Across the way, she saw the hobbits running about hysterically, stabbing orcs, or, in Sam's occasion, knocking them unconscious with frying pans. Legolas leaped out of nowhere and atop the troll's ugly arching spine, launching an arrow into where its medulla supposedly was. Aragorn was slaying orcs not by the double, but by the quadruple; Boromir at triple. Gimli... Gimli was terribly furious, hacking at the goblins like wood with his ax. Naurglahad's underestimation for the dwarf rose slightly.   
  
As the battle passed on, Naurglahad did get a chance to take out a couple that had dared to approach her in offense. But that was all. Soon enough, the troll fell to the ground and died, and Gandalf was urging everyone out of the tomb and back into the darkness of the mines.  
  
  
** ~*~**  
  
  
Run. Run. Run.  
  
That's all that ever really happened down in the mines after the battle of Balin's Tomb. Naurglahad was right behind Merry as Aragorn led them through the darkness and newly lit flames. "Swords are no use beyond here." All was in motion now. If she stopped, if anyone stopped... someone might die. Intensity herded drops of sweat down her cheek.   
  
They seemed to dry in the breeze as she used her spear to vault herself over the crack dividing the abyss and the steep stone stairway. When Megan had practically booted C-chan off the side, Jackie had barely made it. It was lucky that Megan was there to catch her hand. As the others made it across the way, a sudden inappropriate thought reached her mind; would now be a good time to shove Legolas off the staircase?  
  
This perfect opportunity was drowned as her plots turned to panicked concern. Aragorn and Frodo were too late to get across. Then, there were arrows. Arrows from the balconies. "Damn goblins," she heard Megan grumble. The ding of the orcish arrows upon the ridge of the stairs was immediately returned with the whip-like sound of the twang of her bow. Or maybe it was the elf's bow. It didn't matter.  
  
"Aha!" Megan shouted in triumph. "I got one!"  
  
"Then get another one," replied Legolas, taking out one more.  
  
Megan leaned over to Naurglahad and muttered in her ear, "Now I can understand why you hate 'im."  
  
"Isn't it obvious?" the assassin snorted in reply.  
  
"Of course."  
  
_Boom!_  
  
"Run!"  
  
Down the steps the Fellowship and company went. The following corridors were just as dark and as foul smelling as the ones before it. And finally, they reached the thinnest, yet longest bridge Naurglahad had ever seen. Below it was a great abyss, even larger than the bridge. Her bones chilled, especially the ones that made up her feet as she sped lightly across after Merry. She stumbled once and almost lost her balance. Thank the gods that Jackie was there to pull her up. She continued running, but when she looked down to keep an extra eye on her feet, her stomach lurched.   
  
The blackness gaped at her. Though without eyes, it stared her down. She felt weak.   
  
"_You cannot pass! Go back to the Shadow, Flame of Udûn!"  
_  
The blackness turned to the brown stone of Moria as soon as she had reached the other side. Her face relaxed. The flight across the bridge was over. Now if only the journey through the mines would end. She turned. She saw it.  
  
The Balrog roared, the sound it emitted like an erupting volcano. Down its throat seemed like a tunnel of lava, but its tongue was a singed black. Its ferocious head was that of a sort of bull, except its snout was pulled up into a gruesome position, so that it snorted sparks with every heavy breath it took. As for the body, it was the most gigantic body of an animal Naurglahad had ever seen. The skin was black like the tongue, but also like an erupting volcano, cracks of lava were tattooed all about. Scarlet and black wings were torn and ragged looking from their folded position on its huge, arching back.  
  
But what was also very amazing was that Gandalf was opposing the Balrog... alone.  
  
"...hell'a doomed..." came a whimper from Megan.  
_  
Bang!_  
  
Naurglahad gasped after the white light had passed. Gandalf was still standing, his battered staff blocking a mighty strike from the Balrog's flaming sword. In rage, the giant beast tossed the sword aside and brought up a pronged whip. The crack flashed like lightning through the mines.  
  
"_You shall not pass!_"  
  
The events following were totally amazing. Naurglahad had lost her breath. Everything had lost its sound; the Balrog opening its enormous mouth as it fell into the abyss, the pants and sharp inhales from her companions, the lick of the whip, the sound of a foot slipping against stone... and the old Istari's last few words.  
  
"_Fly, you fools!_"  
  
  
**~*~  
  
  
**"...On your feet, Sam."  
  
"Come on, guys," coughed Naurglahad, rubbing her nose roughly as she swung around to face east. "Aragorn said we gotta' get outta' here fast."  
  
"He's dead, Naur," sobbed C-chan. "I tell ya'. Didn'tcha' see him fall? That was our guide falling. Wi'out him, Sauron's gonna' kill us all!"  
  
"Finish your words correctly," grumbled Jackie. "Now really. Gandy wouldn't want us to sit here and cry. He wants that Ring in the pits. Let's get out."  
  
A sharp yank brought C-chan onto her feet. Naurglahad took the lead, head bowed low, her trembling hands fingering the edge of her sleeve, which had torn slightly. Probably from the battle in Balin's tomb. She sighed and trudged on. Eventually, her neck hurt after a timeless period of traveling. Averting her eyes from the ground, she turned her head up, defying the position it was in for the last many minutes. There was a shallow sort of lake ahead. Aragorn, Mister Long-shanks, was jogging swiftly right through it, then stopping at the peak of a grassy hill, looking out east into the distance.  
  
During this time, the rest of the Fellowship collapsed in exhaustion at the bank of the lake. Merry and Pippin had completely fallen to the earth, almost dunking their head into the water, gasping for breath. Sam checked to make sure his master was comfortable --Frodo was laying flat-face on the ground-- before also dipping his face into the water. Naurglahad had the urge to jump in completely, but something told her that it was not something she wanted to do in this male-dominant fellowship.  
  
Aside from the scent of clear, freshwater pressed to her lips, she could smell elf blood coming closer. Her plots from the falling staircase came back. Now was a good chance. It would relieve the stress and sorrow from her heart.  
  
Rapidly, she rose to her feet, grabbed Legolas by the collar, and with one powerful move, she tossed him about a foot into an arch in the air, slamming him down into the water. As he sputtered and coughed out water, Naurglahad was choking with laughter. She rolled onto the ground, clutching her stomach. Her cheeks, light red with tear stains and giggling, boosted off into a bright scarlet as Legolas glared down into her eyes, his hair sopping wet and his elven garments soaked.  
  
"You..." she was cut off with more laughter. "You really know how to--how to..." She couldn't stop laughing. To her surprise, Legolas smiled slightly. He pulled her up from the earth.  
  
"I really know how to make you happy, don't I?" he finished, dusting her shoulder off. Naurglahad's laughter gradually died, the cheerful glint in her eyes dying into a suspicious glint. A similar glint was in Legolas' eyes.  
  
"Wait a mi---"   
  
_Whoosh!_  
  
"_Aieee!_"  
  
Everyone turned. As she rose out of the water, Naurglahad looked more like a wet Balrog reincarnated from Darkness than a frustrated sixteen-year-old.  
  
"_LEGOLAS!!!_"  
  


* * *

Joe made a _huge_ batch of brownies. They're still fresh, so please take as many as you like (but File Cabinet readers please leave some for the others too... if there are any). I will explode if I have another.  
**Joe: **And you might implode if you don't!  
Ergh...  



	13. The Basin

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings. It belongs to JRR Tolkien. The word in the following note belongs to Leslie C.; Lily.**  
  


* * *

  
**Author's Note:**  
Meep.   
  
-Naheka  
  


* * *

SET IT OFF!  
  
  
For at least half an hour, Legolas and Naurglahad had unconsciouslytaken turns to push each other violently in the water, and each time, the fights got more intense. When the remaining Fellowship had stopped shaking their heads, gaping, or chuckling softly, they realized that the two of them were rolling around in the water, Legolas with his hands gripping her neck, and Naurglahad on the verge of sawing his hair off with her knife.  
  
"Come on!" she shouted in his ear harshly. "Just let it go, you prissy frissy Elf!"  
  
"My hair is my Elven dignity!" he replied in the same tone. "It has absolutely nothing to do with how 'pretty' it looks!"  
  
"Your hair is your Elven pride?"  
  
"Yes." One could tell that he was only saying this to get Naurglahad off him.   
  
"...Well it just so happens that I simply love_ breaking _pride!"  
  
"I believe we've had enough of that here!" hollered Aragorn, also jumping to the knee-high water in attempt to tear them into separation. He yanked Naurglahad off first, handing her over to Boromir, who tossed her off onto the banks. Megan caught her, and both she and Jackie had to jump on her to restrain her from launching on Boromir, Aragorn, and Legolas all at the same time.  
  
"Relax!" Jackie screamed, grabbing Naurglahad by the wrist. "God! You don't have to kill anyone---"  
  
"Jac," hissed Megan, finally getting a hold of the struggling-one's collar, "She's an assassin!"  
  
"So it's my duty!" argued Naurglahad. She had almost gotten out of their grasp, until she found a pair of dirty little hobbit feet right in front of her face. She looked up. Pippin was standing above her, a curious, yet assertive look on his face. Out of his pocket came... a small piece of toast. He shoved it in Naurglahad's mouth, gave her a cute pat on the head, and walked away. Naurglahad stopped struggling. Her eyes crossed as she looked down at her mouth to see what Pippin had given her.  
  
"Oh my Sirwa!" she exclaimed suddenly, ultimately bucking off her friends, and grasping the insignificant piece of bread. She held it her right hand, her left hand acting as if afraid to touch it. "It's... it's..."  
  
"It's toast," grumbled C-chan.  
  
"Yes! Exactly! It's toast! Wonderful, glorious, perfect toast! My precious!" She turned on Pippin, and before he could escape, Naurglahad had jumped on him and hugged him tightly. "Thank you, you wise, caring Halfling!" She dropped him in the lake. Legolas shook his head as he helped him to his feet. The poor hobbit looked overly disturbed.   
  
"Toast!" She twirled on one foot and sat cross-legged on a rock, humming in jubilee as she clutched the toast and hugged it to her chest. "I wuv you!"  
  
The Fellowship paled slightly, eyebrows raised, or left eye twitching in disruption. Jackie sighed as a look of embarrassment cross her face.  
  
"Er... We didn't tell you, did we?" she said in a small voice. "Naruglahad Ryunarasu... loves toast. Everyone in her family loves toast. Especially buttered toast. It's really... the... only... thing ... that... really... uh... calms... her..." Jackie's voice completely drowned in the confused looks from the Fellowship.   
  
"Well, it's true!" blurted C-chan.   
  
Megan took her cloak from her shoulders and draped it over her face. Immediately, Jackie and C-chan did the same. Most of the Fellowship just stood there, forgetting that they were chilling slightly in the water. The three hobbits that remained dry were paralyzed. As for Naurglahad... well, she was praising her toast.  
  
_Sniff. Sniff_. "Holy Zhulna! This thing used to be _buttered!_"  
  
  
** ~*~**  
  
  
Naurglahad grumbled complaints and curses to herself as she threw her cloak on and rubbed her eyes. That Elvish lament for Gandalf was stuck in her head, and she simply could not get it out of her head. It haunted her so. Her eyes were baggy from tire, and her joints felt like they needed to be oiled up or something. Nothing a little water couldn't cure in the middle of the night, would it?  
  
Following her sense of smell, she trudged through Lothlorién in search of some water. She couldn't really see where she was going. Although she was usually most alert at night, she was totally exhausted from the traveling that followed after the lake battle escapade. Her tired face turned to a grouchy frown as she recalled a bird flying out of nowhere and snatching the toast out of her hands. Oh how she hated that bird. She shot it down with Legolas' bow (which she had snagged from him without permission). But when she found its dead figure upon the earth's mantle, she discovered that the little sparrow had already devoured the whole thing.  
  
Her fingers shivered slightly as she dipped her cupped hands into a fountain of water. She took no notice of the elegant silver pitcher that sat silently beside the fountain. Instead, she turned when she heard a chirp behind her. It was a nightingale. A bird... A bird! "I will avenge my toast."  
  
The nightingale fluttered away up into the branches of the mallorn trees as she launched at the basin it was perched on. Naurglahad cursed under her breath as she glared into the trees after it, dodging just in time to avoid a little "present" that came plummeting to the earth very soon after. Cursing again, she turned her attention to the basin. Maybe she could set it up so that something heavy flung at it when it returned. Like a rock. A sharp rock. A sharp rock flung at a nightingale. Absolutely lovely.  
  
She brushed the rim of the basin with her fingers, trying to sense something that would strike an idea of how to get that rock in the air. But her eyes caught her reflection displayed in a calm, serene pool of water sitting in the basin. She snorted as she noted that she looked like she had a hangover. Oh well.   
  
Suddenly, the water rippled. Her reflection changed. It showed... the Irakhi Desert. The simple adobe village she lived in, small children running back and forth throughout the buildings. Her view scanned over the village and looked out into the mountains north of the desert. In the distance, a particularly tall mountain was sitting, surrounded by clouds and smoke. Then, a rolling wave of fire came, completely covering the image of her home. When it had cleared, she saw a dead, rotting landscape. Everything was singed black and burned. Fumes of smoke were furling through the skies like flags waving in the wind. The village was nowhere to be seen. Only death. Then, the flames came back. But this time, she saw a Wraith in it... burning... dying.... It was Joe.  
  
Naurglahad backed up from the basin, shaking her head in denial. This was impossible! Did this basin show the future? The present? It couldn't be the past.  
  
But whatever it was, it got her running away from the basin, up a flight of earthy stairs, and through the trees. She had to tell someone. Anyone. Tears began to fall down her cheeks as she bumped into someone standing motionlessly beside a random mallorn tree. Of all people that she could run into, it had to be---  
  
"Oh, it is you," muttered Legolas, putting an arm up to block her just in case she decided to kick him in the face. "What do you want, child?"  
  
Naurglahad couldn't get her words out properly. "Thhe-the basin!" she stuttered, shivering in fear. "Thhere was fire! and smoke! and-nd my home! My village got burned down nd--and J---"  
  
"Your village burned down?" inquired Legolas urgently. "Your home got wrecked?"  
  
"_Yes!_" she cried, sobbing hysterically. "_It's gone! It's all gone!_"  
  
"Then that means you won't have a place to return to!"  
  
"_Yes!_"  
  
"And you'll never get out of my life! You'll be an eternal curse to me!"  
  
"_Exactly already!_"  
  
"Where have you seen this?"  
  
Without a word, Naurglahad turned back toward the path which she came from. She followed the scent of water again, and found the secluded area with the basin and fountain. Forgetting to use the stairs, she leapt over a few terraces and came with a stumbling land a few feet away from the basin. In seconds, Legolas had met her. Her eyes darted at the basin, indicating to Legolas that that was where she had seen the horrible vision.  
  
The elf examined his surroundings carefully before peering cautiously into the basin.   
  
"There is only water," he said. Naurglahad shook her head and looked into the basin parallel to him.  
  
The image in the water changed. Naurglahad paled. She was prepared to back up to avoid seeing it again, but instead, she saw another vision. Now, it was a dark forest. But two people, back turned towards her, dressed in flowing garments of white, shone out of the shadow. One of them had dark hair, and the other with golden hair. As they turned, Naurglahad snorted to see that the one with blonde hair was Legolas. She looked up at him from across the basin, but the elf did not budge. The second figure that stood beside him was a woman, a mortal woman. For some reason, she looked awfully familiar.  
  
Her bright green eyes met with Legolas' sapphire as she smiled sweetly, brushing his cheek with a curled finger. Then, they kissed passionately. As the image faded from the basin and turned back into water, Legolas and Naurglahad exchanged looks of confusion for a few moments.  
  
It took both of them quite some time for them to realize what they had both just seen.  
  
  
**~*~  
  
**Their bloody-murder screams rang out simutaneously through Lothlorien and woke everyone up.  
  
** ~*~  
  
** "Wow!" exclaimed C-chan, waving a hand in front of Naurglahad's paling face. It had been in the same bitter, hating, brooding, plotting contortion for the last hour or so. "I can't believe it!" She did the same to Legolas, who had a very similar glare on his face. "Over one night, they hate each other even more!" She turned to Megan and Jackie with a very hyper and joyful look in her eyes. "It's terribly fascinating! Don't you think so?"  
  
"If you ask me," commented Jackie, taking a casual seat on the shores that led into River Anduín. "I don't think it's hate." She whispered in Naurglahad's ear. "Tell me it's true; I think it's love!"  
  
_ Bam! Splash!  
  
"Augh! My spine! Argh!"_  
  
And to Megan and C-chan's surprise, Naurglahad wasn't even grinning when it seemed that Jackie was drowning in two feet deep water.  
  
  


* * *

I feel like my writing style is off today... ergh. Tired.   
  
Happy "the day after Turkey Day" Day!  
_  
_ _-Naheka_  
  



	14. The Corruption

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Lord of the Rings. It belongs to JRR Tolkien. The short song in the chapter is called 'Basketcase' by Greenday.  
  


* * *

**  
Author's Note:**  
Sorry it took so long to update. I was mostly working on 'The File Cabinet' and my sites. It's mostly talking in this chapter, so it may not be as long as it looks. -___-  
  


* * *

  
**SET IT OFF!**  
  
  
"You're what?"  
  
"We are leaving you here, child. It is for your own good."  
  
"That's not fair!"  
  
"Why is it not?"  
  
"B-because! I..."  
  
Naurglahad thought hard to extract a lie to tell Aragorn. But really, the only reason she had to go was to steal the Ring from Frodo. Of course, there would be no way that Aragorn would let her go if she told him that. In fact, he might actually kill her. Naruglahad crossed her arms and folded into herself, pouting as she glared up at the Ranger.  
  
"Why should I have to listen to you?" she countered acidly. "You are no guardian of mine."  
  
"But I am wiser than you in these lands," replied Aragorn. "It is my firm command that you stay put."  
  
"No!"  
  
"As the leader of this Fellowship, I--"  
  
"I am not part of your Fellowship," the assassin spat in interruption. "I am a follower. I will follow you where ever any of you fools go. You may even be my ticket to get home!"  
  
"I am sorry, Naurglahad." His tone was final and secure. "You cannot go." He turned and headed off into the forest, towards the docks, where the broken Fellowship prepared to set off into the southeast.   
  
But of course, it was sure that no one ever denied an adventure to Naurglahad Ryunarasu.  
  
~*~  
  
Anduin, as Naurglahad soon learned, was the great river that separated the West of Middle-earth, to the East of Middle-earth. It was the great river that divided the east side of the continent, the west side being across the sea in Valinor. At the moment, the young assassin wished that she could boot the elf prince off to the other side of the world. She's have her side on the east, and his precious elf-home on the other. Then, when she ruled all of Middle-earth, and if she played the right cards, she could ultimately destroy him forever.   
  
"Lovely plan," muttered Boromir, continuing to row along the River. "I still cannot believe you snuck in the cargo boat and took off with us. You are such a devious young lady."  
  
"Well _I_ still cannot believe that the other three went on the_ undersides_ of the boats before climbing up," replied Naurglahad in the same tone. "Genius little angel, aren't you?" C-chan grinned sheepishly at her friend through a sopping wet mop of dark brown hair.  
  
"Both of you are evil twits in the end," sighed the Steward.  
  
"Shut up."  
  
Naurglahad splashed a bit of water in his face, and she laughed as he nearly toppled over into the river.   
  
**~*~**  
  
"I want a marshmallow," grumbled C-chan in utter annoyance. "I've got to have my sugar."  
  
"C," said Megan, preparing to disrespect the stubborn campfire by spitting in it. "You _are_ a marshmallow."  
  
"Then I'll just have to be a cannibal and eat myself."  
  
Jackie was squatting on the shores, attempting to pulverize a smooth river rock into powder with a twig she found lying in C-chan's hair. The tip of the twig was beginning to blister open in failure, but Jackie's expression was as tired and as bored as it could ever get. The purpose of smashing a rock with a stick; none.  
  
"Must... wreak... havoc..." mouthed Naurglahad. Her forehead leant against a tree, her eyes now slits on the verge of falling asleep.  
  
"Naurglahad ran our of ideas to create chaos," sighed Merry. "Well, that's something new."  
  
Naurglahad inched her head to face the Brandybuck hobbit, her left eye twitching in annoyance of boredom. Suddenly, she jumped at him started... _singing_.  
  
"_Do you have the time_," she sang angrily in an alto tone, "_To listen to me whine_?  
_About nothing and everything all at once_," Merry raised an appalled eyebrow as Pippin's face curved into shock.  
"_I am one of those,   
Melodramatic fools,  
Neurotic to the bone,  
No doubt about it_."  
  
Samwise shook his head as C-chan joined into the song. "_Sometimes I give myself the creeps,   
Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me"  
  
"It all keeps adding up,"_ sang Megan, looking hopelessly towards the sky.  
  
_ "I think I'm cracking up!" _exclaimed Jackie.   
  
_ "Am I just paranoid?" _asked Naurglahad._  
  
"_I think we're stoned,"__finished all three without a note of music. _   
  
_"I am caught between the decision of applauding and fainting," commented Legolas, sweeping a lock of gold hair out of his keen eyes.  
  
"I am going to chop that hair off, one day," muttered Naurglahad with a mischievous grin. "I swear I will."  
  
"Be quiet, child."   
  
"You will shut up."  
  
Legolas opened his mouth to shout at her, but he caught Gimli's doubting stare and paused. The dwarf nodded his head slightly and leaned back in his seat on a log. There was something mysterious brewing in those dark, beady eyes. Naurglahad did not have the mind to trust it.  
  
"Okay," she sighed loudly. "You folk bore me. I'm off to go terrorize small woodland animals."  
  
Before Aragorn could warn her of orcs, she had taken up her spear and darted off into the woods. He shook his head and put a hand to his mouth.   
  
"Megan, Jackie."   
  
"Eh?" grunted Jackie, finally tossing her broken stick aside. Megan leaned to the left as the stick came flying at her head. Jackie grinned.  
  
"Would you go after Naurglahad?" asked Aragorn. "Make sure you give her cover in case she is ambushed."  
  
"Okee-dokey!"   
  
_"Okee-dokey?"  
_   
"It's a phrase, Meg. Get over it."  
  
"That's my line."  
  
"Says who?"  
  
"Me."  
  
"Please," repeated Aragorn. "Go, now."  
  
  
** ~*~  
  
  
**"Hey, Boromir! Wait up!"  
  
Boromir sighed heavily as he turned on his heel to face an eager Naurglahad running up the hill, coated in Autumn leaves. They scattered into the air as she climbed up towards him.  
  
"What are you doing?" she asked brightly once she had reached him.  
  
She did not trust the momentary silence that followed. The Steward was thinking; thinking up dishonesty. "Just going for a walk."  
  
"You are not," she countered with a sly grin on her face. "You lie."  
  
"Why would I lie to you, Naruglahad?"  
  
"Because you are trying to hide something."  
  
"I am not."  
  
"Yes you are!" She gave him a playful push. "Don't tell an assassin whether you are lying or not!"  
  
"Assassin?" Boromir's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"I am an assassin!" repeated Naurglahad. "Duh! Didn't I tell you that?"  
  
"No!" cried Boromir. He backed up slightly away from her. "You never told anyone!"  
  
"I didn't?"  
  
"Nay!"  
  
Naurglahad put her hands on her hips and pondered to herself. Did she tell anyone about her employment? Suddenly, she could not recall doing so. Her shoulders drooped. She remembered that she wasn't supposed to tell anyone that she was an assassin.  
  
Before she could apologize and explain to the Steward, he had run off higher into the hills. She stood there for a few moments, listening to his footsteps crunch on the leaves. Assassins were good at tracking, were they not? Might as well track after him.  
  
** ~*~**  
  
"Give it to me!"  
  
"Never!"  
  
"Give it to me now!"  
  
"You are mad!"  
  
Frodo jumped down the hill and dodged through trees. But before he could get too far, Boromir had jumped on him and had gotten a hold on his ankles. The Man tried to pull the Hobbit closer to him, hand flailing in attempt to snatch the Ring. But to no avail, Frodo slipped the golden band on, and disappeared from Boromir's sight.  
  
"I see your mind!" he snarled.  
  
_Thud!_  
  
In a blink, Boromir watched someone jump from out of nowhere and land on an invisible shape on the ground. Naurglahad wrestled fiercely with the invisible Frodo, grabbing and pulling with all her might. "I got him!" she cried, laughing hysterically as she yanked something into the air. Frodo was revealed into sight again, struggling frantically in Naurglahad's iron grasp.   
  
She thrust him aside and clutched the Ring to her chest, grinning evilly at both the Hobbit and the Steward. "It's mine now," she cackled. "I am the all-powerful one now!" She darted off into the trees, and Boromir nor Frodo ever heard from her again in Amon Hen.  
  
  
** ~*~**  
  
  
Naurglahad was definitely going insane by the time she crept to the shores, only to find the Fellowship and her friends missing. Perfect. Ducking into one of the boats, she slipped the Ring into a small pouch of Lembas. She tucked the pouch in the far corner of the boat. No one would find it there, would they?  
  
Like a treacherous snake, she slithered swiftly into hiding as someone came whistling down to the campsite. It was Sam, twirling a stick through his pudgy fingers, humming a tune without a care. She crouched on all fours and prepared to launch herself on him for the sudden-death kill, until---  
  
"Orcs!" shrieked Sam. He unsheathed his sword and charged back into the woods. "I'm comin fer ye' Mister Frodo!"  
  
"Orcs?" thought Naurglahad. "Killing practice. Goody... goody."  
  
  
** ~*~**  
  
  
Legolas swore he thought he saw tears forming at Naurglahad's eyes, but in an instant, she wiped them away on her sleeve. He said nothing though, listening to Aragorn sing the final verse to Boromir's lament.  
  
"_To Rauros,"_ sang Aragorn, "_golden Rauros-falls, until the end of days._"  
  
"That's it!" huffed Gimli. "The Fellowship is broken! We've lost Gandalf, and the Steward..."  
  
"You lost my friends too," muttered Naurglahad acidly. "What happened? Jackie and Megan get abducted by some stupid Uruk-hai, and C-chan falls in a boat with Frodo and Sam." She kicked the ground. "I hate you all."  
  
Legolas turned to rebuttal, but Aragorn shook his head. "Let her be bitter for the moment."  
  
"Well," Legolas darted toward the other boats, "we can still follow after Frodo and Sam... and their stowaway companion."  
  
Aragorn did not reply. Legolas' determined gaze softened.   
  
"We'll go after the other four," explained Naurglahad before Aragorn could speak. "Frodo, Sam, and C-chan are on their own now. Can't stop that. Let's go Rohan."  
  
"Wise choice, Naruglahad," sighed Aragorn. "I was just about to say that."  
  
"Well," Naurglahad grinned through a stream of tears that came down her face. "I can say it better."  
  
"We travel light," announced the Ranger in a final tone. He slipped a knife into his scabbard. "Let's hunt some Orc!"  
  
"Yeah!" cheered Gimli. Legolas smiled. Naurglahad laughed heartily.   
  
  



	15. Forget You

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Lord of the Rings. It belongs to JRR Tolkien.  
  


* * *

  
**Author's Note: **  
Happy New Year!  
  


* * *

  
SET IT OFF!  
  
  
Her face met the dirt for at least the eleventh time as Naurglahad tripped over her incredulously weary feet, bones on the verge of snapping in two or melting into the earth. She inhaled and exhaled soil for a moment before stooping to her knees, then to her feet before chasing after Legolas again. Her heel failed her again. Still cursing, she got to her feet again and decided to go just a little easier on her own pursuit.  
  
"_Get back here with my knife!_" she screamed furiously at the Elf.  
  
"Aragorn," Legolas inquired again, "I do not believe this is the best way to get a child to run for a day and a half---"  
  
"By the rate we are going," interrupted Aragorn, "we are going to be running for another day and a half."  
  
"Three days?"  
  
"About, yes. Now, you are the swiftest and longest runner, Legolas. If you hold that knife captive for another day and a half, we can get her to Rohan without having to carry anyone on our backs."  
  
"Ai, but still---"  
  
"It does not matter any longer. If you stop, she will attempt to strangle you anyway!"  
  
Legolas glanced over his shoulder for a brief moment. Naurglahad certainly did not look happy, hair in a tangle and face still spattered lightly with Orc blood. She was still limping slightly; apparently her heel had been bruised. Sweat glazed upon open wounds that were beginning to turn into either scabs or scars, round her arms and legs. However, there was a wide, yet light slash over her left eye; such a cut only made by the _brush_ of an Orc blade. For hours she ranted, as she sprinted, about what a terrible shame it is to be touched by such a---  
  
"Filthy, disgusting, worthless, intolerable, insignificant, unpredictable, atrociously terrible, damned creation that some sick-minded, psychotic, sadistic, morbid, evil-person of a creator created!"  
  
"If you say that again, young lady," grunted Gimli, still panting and huffing as he made his way up a hill, "you will run out of breath!"  
  
"I've died at least a thousand deaths by now!" cried Naurglahad. "And each death is the exact same way! Exhaustion! I want my knife back!"  
  
"Can we find another way to persuade her to keep running?" asked Legolas... for the fifth time.   
  
The Ranger checked over his shoulder again. His gaze was concentrated and observing, but it suddenly widened and flinched.  
  
"Too late, my Elf friend," he said sadly. "You had better run faster."  
  
"No! Where are you going with that?"  
  
"Just let me cleave a head! Please!"  
  
Gimli roared as she shook his head vigorously. "Yer going to smash it!"  
  
Naurglahad quickened her pace as much as she could. "I'll give it back to you when I've got my knife returned!"  
  
Legolas proved indeed to be nimble and swift, easily accelerating his pace and surpassing Aragorn by a yard or two; just to be safe from the furious young lady that was running thickly behind him, wielding Gimli's Dwarvish ax. In her wild frustration, through shouts of anger, and rivers of perspiration, Naurglahad very much resembled a delirious Uruk-hai. She was gaining on him for a few moments, until finally she knew that the weight of it was too heavy for her preference, and she flipped backward onto the grass like a sack of potatoes flung out a window.  
  
"_Shkizat_, that thing is heavy..." she muttered, shoving the accursed ax to the side, where it rolled down a small knoll and halted at Gimli's feet.  
  
"Don't touch the ax ever again!" he bellowed, prodding her stomach with the handle end.  
  
"...Ow?"  
  
"Oh, no! You aren't going to get smart with me, young lady! Get up!" In her reluctance to move, he waddled around her and pushed her shoulders up until she was sitting up properly. "Now keep moving!" Gimli's face turned slightly red as Naurglahad only mimicked the Dwarf with her eyes crossed. "That's it! I am going to forget you! Good-bye!"  
  
Off he went, jogging hurriedly after Aragorn and Legolas, shaking his head as his breathing increased by harshness again.  
  
  
** ~*~**  
  
  
"You what?"  
  
"Left her behind! She was getting annoying and… and… ergh!"  
  
"Does Aragorn know this?"  
  
"…No?"  
  
"Then you might be safe for the time being!"  
  
Legolas looked to the west to see if he could spot their fourth lost companion some far-away behind them. To no avail, Naurglahad was absolutely nowhere to be seen, even for the Elf's keen sight. Gimli's angered face had turned into an expression of guilt as he was told that she was completely lost to them.  
  
"Master Dwarf! Master Elf! Naurglahad!" called Aragorn from far ahead of them. "Hurry on now!"   
  
"Well…" Gimli said without confidence, "I never approved of her being in this Fellowship in the first place! And neither did you!"  
  
"She was never part of our Fellowship," replied Legolas. "She was not assigned at the Council of Elrond, nor did she follow us for the sake of destroying the Ring…" he turned south-east, "which is currently out of our hands until maybe forever. Personally, I believe she's here for more than just a route home… much more."  
  
He fell silent then, pondering to himself at what treachery Naurglahad could really be up to. Gimli stood beside him and watched the Elf think.   
  
"Maybe leaving her behind was a wise choice after all," sighed Legolas finally.   
  
Then he turned around and began sprinting off after Aragorn. Gimli took once last glance towards the south-east. It could have been the Dwarf's imagination, but he could hear the screams in the Black Tongue, giving out orders to soldiers of the Dark Realm. The peak in fire, Mount Doom, was waiting. Pillars of smoke rose from the ground, and gave a misty cover to the thousands of Orcs marching through the Black Gates, shrieking in their own tongue, "To war! To war!"  
  
"Perhaps… yes," whispered Gimli to himself. "Perhaps… not."  
  
**~*~**  
  
"You lost her?"  
  
Gimli did not reply to the Ranger's stressed and outraged bellow.  
  
"Do you have any idea what that might do to her? To us?"  
  
"Us?" said Gimli. "What does her loss have to do with us?" He regained his usual stubborn courage. "It is good riddance, I say! She's better off on her own! We don't need an extra person to be taking care of!"  
  
"She could give away our position to spies of the Dark Ones!" shouted Aragorn. "She's going to kill us! If we are not reached by the hands of the Orcs, then we may be attacked by even wickeder forces! Wargs! Crebain! Any—"  
  
He stopped mid-sentence. He stood in the wind, and listened closely for what was coming.  
  
"Hide."  
  
One by one, they took a dive behind a nearby rock. Soon after Gimli had snuck into shelter, a thunder of horse hooves came pounding into sound. Aragorn watched carefully as they passed by. When the last of them came riding over the hill, the Ranger stood from their eluded position and called, "Riders of Rohan! What news from the Riddermark?"  
  
To all three hunter's dismay, the Riders did not reply. Instead, as they ran down the hill, they were surrounded and threatened with long spears, wielded by the Men in silver armor, mounted on their also armored horses.  
  
"What business," said the Rider who appeared to be the leader, "does a Elf, a Man, and a Dwarf have in the Riddermark?"  
  
"Give me your name, horsemaster," grunted Gimli before Aragorn could speak," and I shall give you mine."  
  
The Rider dismounted from his horse and replied, "I would cut off your head, Dwarf, if it stood just a little higher from the ground."  
  
Legolas prepared to string an arrow into his bow, until, "Do I know you three?" interrupted him.  
  
Of all the people that could have been riding with the Rohirrim, it was not Merry, not Pippin, not Frodo, and not Sam. In fact, it was not Naurglahad either.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  



	16. Who's the Fool Now?

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Lord of the Rings. It belongs to JRR Tolkien. I own every strange thing before the first asterisk break. (this thingy: ~*~)  
  


* * *

  
**Author's Note:**  
I have my suspicions that some of the characters are a bit out of character in this chapter, but I did my best to keep the original personalities. Also, I have to follow this by movie-verse because I followed the FOTR events by the movie. I've got to re-read the books to refresh my memory.... But Tom Bombadil and his many songs are going to give me nightmares again... *shudders*  
  


* * *

  
**Set It Off!**  
  
  
"_Kill them, kill them, Precious._"  
  
The three-foot long snake hissed bitterly in reply. Its owner grinned back at it before setting it loose onto the earth, carefully watching it slither through the tall, green grass of the plain lands. The owner kept her anticipating smile on her face as the snake approached the victim: a rather bulky-looking_ Gnazba_ clad in dark purple and deep scarlet tunic and leggings. The blue creature's fox-like ears pricked up at the sound of an approaching attacker, but took no hesitation in continuing to walk through the bushy terrain.  
  
"_Foolish..._"  
  
In a flash, the _Gnazba_ fell dead into the dirt. Dragon poison and snake poison were two acids only the truly skilled dared to mix. Well, the owner hadn't been the one to stir it up, as she recalled, letting the snake crawl back onto her shoulder. Her father was the real genius in the scene. In thanks to her partner, the owner stroked the snake and gave it a light kiss on the head. Then, she set it loose again, but in the opposite direction where it would return to its usual midmorning routine.  
  
---  
  
  
"_I found the stone, just as you asked, father._"  
  
Father closed his eyes as he turned away from his daughter in silence, her capture clutched firmly in his right hand. Still in dark tranquility, he made his way through a few corridors, and between doors. The owner, the daughter, followed in the same manor, without a sound. It would be near eerie to any spy that would be watching this event. But of course, no spy ever lived to see this area of the grounds.  
  
Daughter watched silently, pulling her hood over her head as Father placed the last stone into an enormous dome-shaped stone. It was a myriad of a collection, but each entry had its place. The stone, stolen from the foolish _Gnazba_, was a deep purple; but it turned to bright red once it was firmly inserted into the entry space. Daughter had intentions to scream in horror as a green light flashed, followed by a ring of red. A strong pull of wind blew her trembling figure to the ground.   
  
Moments passed like years, and in that time, Father bowed soundlessly and nudged his child as a signal to rise. She exited first, and he last. The creak of the iron door that blockaded the entrance to the magic stone room was a near unforgettable shriek of locks and chains. But Daughter had forgotten about it four years later._  
  
  
_ ** ~*~**  
  
Aragorn looked up. Neither the Elf, the Dwarf, or the Man recognized the Rider that was sitting on a horse near the far back of the swarm. He lifted his helmet up slightly and examined them from afar for a few moments. Eomer turned his attention to his soldier.  
  
"You know these strange folk?" the horsemaster inquired harshly. "Speak!"  
  
"I know them not," replied the soldier, "but I recognize their features."  
  
"Explain this."  
  
The rider sighed and shifted. "...There was a young girl that passed through Edoras a several months ago. She looked deadly pale, on the verge of passing into death. One of the innkeepers gave her refuge in his inn*; I was there. She was sitting at the bar with a mug of warm milk. I had a whisky; very fine whisky at that." He licked his lips, but he continued with his tale. "Anyway, she claimed that she was in pursuit for a gang of home-wreckers. She said that they raided her home and stole her family's livestock. I asked where she hailed from, but she didn't answer. The next morning, her room was found empty and one of the horses in the stables were missing."  
  
"What does this child have to do with these strangers?" asked Eomer, still in his strict tone.  
  
"She described one of the thieves. She said he was an elf. An elf traveling with a dwarf, some small people, and three men, one of them being a very old man. Her description fits this band near perfectly."  
  
The riders prepared to strike the hunters with their weapons as Eomer asked, "Have you been terrorizing the innocent? Are you a spy of Saruman?"  
  
Gimli looked as if he were about to pounce on Eomer, but Aragorn held him back, saying, "What was this child's name?"  
  
The rider thought for a few moments. "She called herself Rogue of the East Lands."  
  
**  
~*~**  
  
"Hey! I just noticed that I am totally caked in dirt and orc blood!"  
  
One would have ultimately thought that Naurglahad was going insane if they had seen her talking to herself as she lay on the knoll where Gimli had abandoned her. She cursed the dwarf and the elf and the man. She wanted to go home. The assassin pushed herself up and looked around. But how could she get home? Damn, that troublesome riddle.  
  
So... there was only one place to go: east.  
  
"_Ashikaa mamaedio alka,_" she sang brightly as she moved, "_nana sitzuhe, naga naga imo, Eku chaeka di jajuil, Nama nae nae naga naga imo!"_  
  
Well, truth be told, she was singing a drunk-man's song that she learned in Ghadliste. Oh, what would she give to return. Once again, damn that troublesome riddle. Her mind cursed for hours upon hours as she kept heading east, following the scent of men as closely as she could. It was complete toil, nearly an absolute waste of time. When night had fallen, she collapsed to the ground with a headache biting at her mind. She did not look to the stars for comfort. Instead, she covered her head with her sleeve, and let her weariness consume her.  
  
  
** ~*~**  
  
"Is she dead?"  
  
"...She's still kinda' breathing."  
  
"We should keep moving! Momma's waiting for us at Edoras!"  
  
"What the...?"  
  
Naurglahad looked up. Two blonde children sat upon a mature black horse, staring down at her with concerned curiosity. It took her a few blinks to realize that they were on their own and that it was still very early in the morning. Naurglahad groaned.  
  
"Y--you're heading to Edoras?" she asked in a mere whisper, somewhat trying to sound on the verge of death and in need of a ride. She did not care if she was lying to innocent children. She figured the would lose their minds eventually; why not tamper with them now?  
  
"Are _you_?" inquired the elder of them, a boy who appeared to his companion's brother. His companion, a little girl, looked impatient, tired, and above all, frightened.  
  
Naurglahad paused, hoping that she didn't get Edoras mixed up with Eriador or Eressea or Eldar or--- "Yes, I'm heading for Edoras. How long have you been traveling?"  
  
"Days," answered the boy.  
  
"At that pace? You look like you're running from someone."  
  
"We're off to warn everyone," said the girl before her brother could speak, "and to find our Momma'."  
  
"It may be too late if you keep at that slow gait," replied the devious one. "I will help you get to Edoras much quicker... if you lend me your horse. I am a capable rider, you can trust that I may get you there safely and swiftly."  
  
The boy thought for a moment; there was something just too suspicious about this stranger. Why was she lying here alone, by herself, in the middle of Rohan, during times of treachery, and armed with weapons?  
  
"I am on a search for my friends," she explained as innocently as she could. "They were snatched by orcs and taken towards the east."  
  
She waited and hoped for an answer from the young riders. "...We don't believe you."  
  
_Then have it your way_, she thought, her eyes narrowing to angered slits. As the boy prepared to take off again, she brushed her hand against the burn mark on her thigh. The eye of Sauron waited there, still fresh with the Dark energy that ran through every flake of skin it touched. She dashed right in front of the horse at it began to stride forward. But as the boy tried to veer around her, she made sure that they had just a moment of eye contact. Something in her poisoned mind told her that it was all she needed.  
  
  
** ~*~**  
  
"He charms you, doesn't he?"  
  
The blonde woman whipped around in surprise. Naurglahad blinked and smiled slightly. The stranger raised an eyebrow slightly to see a foreign sixteen year old somewhat spying on her, and wearing an oversized auburn tunic; it was so large for her that she had to wear a second shirt under it. The outcome of her apparel was almost silly-looking.   
  
"You fancy him," continued Naurglahad, "I can tell.... And for your information, I just happen to like looking like a dork... walking around in huge clothes... feeling stupid... and uncomfortable."  
  
"You're Naurglahad, are you not?" asked the woman. "You were traveling with Eothain* when you came to Edoras?"  
  
"Yeah." Her tone was lax and low. "And you're Eowine, right?"  
  
"Eowyn," she corrected, crossing her arms over her chest. "Shield Maiden of Rohan."  
  
"Nice... So--"  
  
"Ah! There you are, you arrogant child!"  
  
A slight wince of concern flashed in Eowyn's eyes as Naurglahad's calm expression turned to a highly disturbed and angry glare as she wheeled on her heel to face Gimli the dwarf that came waddling towards her. She stuck her tongue out at him as she pulled an eyelid down. The dwarf waved this aside and returned her glare as he bowed before Eowyn and asked:  
  
"Milady, would you please be ever so kind as to do a favor for us?"   
  
"What favor do you ask of me?" replied Eowyn. "I should be pleased to do it."  
  
Gimli pressed his lips together as he snatched Naurglahad's wrist and yanked her down with a sharp tug. "This one here needs to have an extra close pair of eyes on her. She keeps getting herself and others into trouble. Watch her for us on the way to Helm's Deep?"  
  
Eowyn paused to take a glance at Naurglahad, whose back had given out from hunching to meet Gimli's height and now sat on her arse, gazing absentmindedly into the ceiling. The shield maiden sighed. "I will do as you ask."  
  
"Thank you, Eowyn," said the dwarf, obviously relieved at the freedom of probably one of the worst burdens he had ever had to bear in his long lifetime.  
  


* * *

*I really hate defying the logic of common sense, but I suppose that even in times that were as tricksy (Smeagol-word!) as the days of the War of the Ring, someone would be nice enough to take a stranger into their inn.  
*Is it Eothain? That's what I heard on the screen, but I have my suspicions because I think that was the name of some dude in Thedon's ancestry or posterity.  
  



	17. Water Wars II

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Lord of the Rings. It belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.  
  


* * *

  
**Author's Note:**  
GO RAIDERS!  
  


* * *

  
**Set It Off!**  
  
  
The Master, the Fat-Hobbit, and the Tall-Hobbit had been following Smeagol for quite some time. The Tall-Hobbit had lost count of how many suns had faded and how many moons had died since she woke up at the bottom of that boat, which was actually heading towards Emyn Muil. Fortunately, the Master and the Fat-Hobbit were also in the boat with her, and had been her hope of survival.  
  
"Some fellowship," muttered the Fat-Hobbit. "It's only you an' me, Mister Frodo. Poor C-chan has to tag along with us... like that Gollum you have skittering about. Why do you trust him anyway, Mister Frodo?"  
  
"He's a good person at heart," replied the Master. "I'm sure we can trust him. He's got his life bent on the Ring."  
  
"All've our lives are bent on the Ring," said the Tall-Hobbit softly. "That's why I need--"  
  
"No more napsess, Tall-Hobbit," hissed Smeagol. "Wait 'till Yellowface goes down the mountain. She won't bother us then. Nasty Yellowface she is."  
  
The Tall-Hobbit yawned and frowned, slouching as she continued to crawl across the rocks of Emyn Muil, which were starting to show small clumps of grass every few yards or so. A new territory was not far away.  
  
"I'm so... slee-eepy-y..."  
  
_Thud._  
  
"Stupid, Tall-Hobbit!" growled Smeagol, his pale face scrunching into a scowling expression. "Alwayses falling into slumber! Get her up! Get her up!"  
  
Only the Fat-Hobbit was able to do any work, so he nudged the Tall-Hobbit and pushed her up into a sitting position. The Tall-Hobbit yawned and blinked for a moment, but then plopped over to sleep again. And by the disgruntled look on the Fat-Hobbit's face, this journey to the Black Gate was going to be much further than he thought it would be.  
  
  
** ~*~**  
  
  
"That isn't a Halfling!" shouted one orc, pointing at Megan with a gnarled finger. "She's much too tall to be one of them! I say we eat her! Now!"  
  
"But her hair is like the others," argued another orc. "She might actually be a very long Halfling!"  
  
"I say we eat them anyway!" cried a third.  
  
"We've only had the same maggoty bread for three stinking days!"  
  
"Quit your whining! You've said that twice already!"  
  
"What about their legs?" inquired the first orc with a somewhat maniacal grin. "They don't need those." His eyes flashed with a wild hunger. "Oh, they look tasty!"  
  
"They are not for eating!" roared Ugluk.  
  
A tear streamed down Jackie's cheek and fell to the earth in a wet splash. Megan had been knocked unconscious during the terribly uncomfortable ride. She automatically knew that it was definitely not a good idea to take the 'Orc Express' if was ever an option to her again. The foul smell of the napes of their filthy necks still clung to her nose, and what a horrid aroma it was. Pippin was horrified and staring at Merry, occasionally looking out to the west. Jackie did the same, in hope of seeing something wildly impossible to come and save her. What if Gandalf fell out of the sky and saved them? It would do if Naurglahad came running like a madman and killed every monster in sight. Anything to save...  
  
A spleen came flying at her and collided against her sleeve. A streak of orc blood stained her tunic. Another organ came flying and thwacked Megan in the head. She did not wake. Jackie slowly turned with a wince to observe the new scene. Dinner was served for the Uruk-hai; and just to make it better, she made an awesome discovery!  
  
Orcs are cannibals.  
  
  
** ~*~**  
  
  
Gimli had a glint of unsureness in his eyes. Was handing Naurglahad over to Eowyn too much? She was already a lot for himself and his fellow hunters -- nay -- for the whole fellowship of the Ring, she was a lot to take care of! The dwarf sighed and looked behind him to see how many bones Eowyn might have broken.  
  
"Great, Aule! This isn't fair!"  
  
Eowyn and Naurglahad looked very comfortable and very pleasant together, both with a good smile on their faces and laughing like any other female would. In fact, Naurglahad, who had just asked Eowyn some random increment (which Gimli suspected might be something ever-feminine) was looking like a well-nurtured, specifically _normal_ young child, and a somewhat sophisticated one at that! She was walking with a relaxed, yet straight posture for once, instead of her usual hunched shoulders and uptight arms. Her eyes were happy and her lips were smiling and...  
  
"She probably won't last that long," thought Gimli with a grim expression on his face. "There is no way that such a Hell-raiser would be so enlightened forever."  
  
  
**~*~**  
  
"You were both right and wrong," said Legolas calmly as he helped Gimli up on a horse. The dwarf was claiming that his legs were about to fall off. Legolas paused in his advice to observe Gimli looking down at his reflection in the shallow lake they were passing by. Apparently, the dwarf had not often seen himself on a full-grown horse before. "No happiness will last forever, but from my long years I have known that it can last for a very long ti--"  
  
_Sploosh!  
  
_The familiar taunting laughter approached the elf's ears. As he wiped a random sea weed out of his face, Legolas did not need to make an effort to spot a cackling Naurglahad pointing at him as she stood at the edge of the lake. No doubt she had jumped on him and knocked him over into the water. But as she laughed till she reddened, Eowyn paused to whisper something in her ear. Immediately, Naurglahad paled and stopped laughing. She shot Eowyn an embarrassed and uncomfortable look, but Eowyn only nodded. The sixteen-year-old spat in the dirt and kicked at the earth for a bit.   
  
Then she offered Legolas her hand.  
  
"I'm so-o-orry-y..." she muttered painfully, as if an apology was the most difficult thing to say ever. Legolas looked at her suspiciously and sat in the lake without movement. "Oh, get over it, stupid elf! I'm trying to h-h-help y-you..." She was twitching like her tongue has burning. "Ergh!"  
  
Legolas pressed his lips together before taking her hand and grasping it firmly.  
  
"Don't hold onto my hand forever!" she shouted. People were starting to turn.  
  
_Splash!_  
  
"I _did_ know you were going to do that!"   
  
"Then you should not have offered me help."  
  
"Eowyn told me to!"  
  
"That's odd. You obey a sensible person's command for once."  
  
"There was a consequence."  
  
Naurglahad's eyes glazed with a sparkle of innocence for a few moments. Legolas did not know whether to be paralyzed by it or scream in terror.  
  
_Pow!_  
_  
_Well, the innocence did not last long. For soon, Naurglahad had pounced on Legolas and made an attempt to strangle him by the neck. The elf only had one choice: to fight back. But to his surprise, the child was a much better wrestler than he thought she was. Only his masculinity could save him now. Gimli's eyes looked as if they were going to pop out of his sockets. He turned to call for Eowyn, but he faltered when he saw her leaning on Aragorn's shoulder to make sure she wouldn't topple over in laughter.  
  


* * *


	18. Without Aragorn, there's less nagging!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Lord of the Rings. It belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.  
  


* * *

**  
Set It Off!**  
  
"You're going off to war?" she asked curiously, again pulling on an innocent tone and look.  
  
"Yeah," answered a young man no older than seventeen as he slipped on a shirt of mail. "My king called, and I have to answer."  
  
"It's actually really dangerous, y'know," said the young lady. "People get killed really easily."  
  
"I know." He straightened his back and broadened his shoulders like a noble knight. "And I have to be brave to save you and the other women and children."  
  
"That's nice of you."  
  
"Naurglahad! Don't!"  
  
The young man's face turned from his solemn stare to a petrified one as Naurglahad, the young lady, pinned him up against the wall with her left hand and threatened to punch him in the face with her right. Spotting the intruder, she released her captive and her fist with a wide grin. Dusting his shoulders off with the same maniacal smile, she curtseyed and pushed him off in the opposite direction with an apology.  
  
"Young men," she said softly. "So vulnerable, aren't they?"  
  
Eowyn did not looked convinced. "You were about to knock him out and take his armor, weren't you?"  
  
"Well..." Naurglahad looked down at the ground and pawed at it with her left toes. "Maybe..."  
  
"If you are going to play with the other boys, you play nicely."  
  
"...Boys don't tag with girls." The assassin's tone lowered back into its usual hating, death tone.  
  
"But the wild girls do," replied the Shield Maiden.  
  
"So why can't I punch out people?"  
  
"Because." Eowyn raised her eyebrows as if hinting toward a clue for Naurglahad to follow. She apparently caught the hint and shrunk into herself with an apologetic, mournful look in her eyes. "Good girl."  
  
** ~*~**  
  
"You... never sit, do you?'  
  
Legolas raised an eyebrow at the child that sat on the bench beside him. She was snacking on crackers as her spare hand made her way across the table to an abandoned, tin mug of beer. Gimli had gotten up for nature's call, so she had thought he wouldn't miss the liquor if she had a couple sips of it.   
  
"No liquor for you," grunted Legolas, swiping the tankard out of her reach before she could even grasp the handle. "Who knows what chaos would ensue if a drunken sixteen year old was walking around."  
  
Naurglahad frowned and slouched her shoulders. Well, at least Aragorn wasn't around anymore to back up the elf. _"Yeah, he kinda' slid off a cliff and probably died a terrible, tragic death_," thought Naurglahad. "_Poor soul... he deserved it; he was just jealous because I was the only one who actually jumped off a horse and onto a warg. Those are fun to ride. Too bad I accidentally ran over several people... and fell off... and kinda' got dirt in my mouth...._" Then, the doors of the keep swung open. _"...Oh no. How could he?"  
  
_Aragorn was sweating and bleeding a hero's toil as he staggered majestically across the hall, easily hooking the admiring stares of the keep's inhabitants, particularly the young women... the shield maiden. He sauntered up to Legolas. The elf's eyes narrowed as he spoke something Elvish in a harsh tone to Aragorn. The Man blinked. The elf suddenly pulled a concerned expression. "You look terrible."  
  
With a snort and a loud cry, Naurglahad burst into a fit of laughter. She giggled so hard, that her face went red and she toppled off the seat, landing on her arse on the stone floor. Even then, she fell onto her back with her legs trembling in the air. Aragorn gave a soft chuckle, but it was drowned by the sixteen year old's riotous laughter.  
  
But with every beginning, there is an end, and the end of Naurglahad's laughter was sharper than the blade of Narsil.   
  
"Not funny."  
  
"Right."  
  
** ~*~**  
  
_ "Just a quick peek won't hurt, will it?"  
  
"Nauri! Don't! You'll get in so much trouble if he catches you!"  
  
"And that's why he won't catch me."  
  
"Yeah, like the time we weren't going to be caught when we were ambushing random people with water balloons?"  
  
"That was two years ago."  
  
"We hit the Prime Minister of Om... Om... Om--something!"  
  
"If you can't pronounce a country name," said Naurglahad, tossing a rope down to one of her brothers, "then don't bother. If you can't stand the thought of being caught, then don't come. Got it?"  
  
The boy, not a week over ten years old, frowned up at his sister as she abandoned him by the cornerstone of a long, dark gray stone wall, lined with iron thorns and chains. She stepped over and through these traps and jumped to the other side of the stone wall. "Chicken wuss," she muttered as she continued to creep through stalks of pale blue grass against the light of the evening sky, tainted with the usual red sun and blackened streams of smoke.  
  
Truly in her lands, blood was not only spilled every night, but every day.  
  
  
---  
_ _   
  
Push, push, three to the left, one to the right, pull, four down, seven up, pull, pull, push, push. That was the first lock. Now, for the second. Nine diagonal, two horizontal, tilt thrice to the left, thrice to the right, push again, then pull. Click. There.  
  
Naurglahad cast the stone key piece to the floor and rushed into the darkened chamber. She lit only a few torches as she moved, careful not to make too much noise; this was her own secret mission; she could not be found. She still had no regrets of coming to this forbidden place as she lit the last torch and scrambled into the very last room at the very end of the hall. Vines had begun to take over the northern wall of the room, the bloody sun against the mist of the small jungle reflecting every particle of dead dust circumnavigating the air.  
  
And there in the faded iris that remained constant among the dust, was a dais and a flat wheel, all made of wood.   
  
Upon approaching the wheel, young Naurglahad found small numbers etched on the rim of the wheel, but where the axle should touch, there was a red mark, not much larger than her two thumbs put together. A flame. The air began to thicken as she dared to prod the mark with her right fingers.   
  
The moment her skin felt the wood of the ring, she withdrew her hand and made a mad dash out of the room. Now she definitely knew she wasn't supposed to be here.  
  
"I shouldn't have done that," she muttered to herself. "I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't--ow!"  
  
Naurglahad stumbled and fell back onto her posterior. She thought she had smashed into a wall. But looking up... she found that she was wrong.  
  
"Hi... Dad..."  
  
But by the look in Dad's face, he was obviously not happy to see his twelve-year-old child in the halls of the most classified building ever built within a five-thousand mile radius.  
  
_   



End file.
